Tuesday, June 02, 2009

 

Boo-cock-ay

Yesterday I was at work being awesome when I checked my Gmail and saw that LL Cool Jew had an urgent matter for my attention.
LL Cool Jew: did you get my text?
Razzy: no my phone's been off all morning!
Razzy: meetings, viruses, etc.
Razzy: let me check
LL Cool Jew: k thanks
I checked my phone to see the following text message from LL Cool Jew: "What is bukkake and how do you pronounce?"
Razzy: lol
Razzy: bukkake is pronounced "boo-cock-ee"
Razzy: or "boo-cock-ay"
 Razzy: which is probably the more correct japanese pronunciation
LL Cool Jew: k
Razzy: it is the specific genre of porn--or the act in general--of ejaculating all over a girl
LL Cool Jew: k that makes sense
Razzy: in classic bukkake, it's usually multiple men acting as the bukkake-ers
Razzy: but sometimes it's misused to just describe a garden variety facial from one dude although that isn't really "bukkake" if you want to be a purist about it
Razzy: of course this all originated in japan
Razzy: why, did bigbagel ask if you'd be into it or something?
Razzy: and ps--it's fucking typical that I know all this minutiae about the true definition of bukkake
LL Cool Jew: i knew you would be the right person to ask
As it turns out, LL Cool Jew has not decided to spice up her marriage by inclusion of bukkake.  She noticed mention of bukkake in the context of some snarky jokes on Dlisted and got curious.  However, she wisely recognized that whatever bukkake was, it was probably best not to have a search for its Wikipedia page turn up on her work computer browser history.  So she went to the next best thing to the "perv" section of Wikipedia: yours truly.   JerseyGirl must have told her what an informative resource I was when I explained to her how ass to mouth differs from a conventional rim job.

This is not to say that I have ever been bukkaked.  I wouldn't rule it out, because I've been known to do stuff that's not even particularly appealing to me just to tell the story later, but I don't really see the appeal, in spite of my pronounced semen fetish.  I mean, I like dudes to get creative when blowing their loads and I am a champion swallower, but I also like to get off in the course of eliciting said climax.  In fact, I insist upon it.  Squatting uncomfortably and watching a host of dudes jerk is not going to make me have an orgasm, so I'll pass on taking a ride on the bukkake express.  

I'm not really sure how I'd find myself in a situation where there were multiple dudes with whom I'd even consider the prospect.  I know plenty of horny dudes, but I can't imagine calling them up and saying something like, "So, I've been interested in getting bukkaked...got plans this Friday night?"  Nor can I even imagine getting wasted with a bunch of dudes and somehow thinking that would be a great afterparty.  The closest I've ever come to that was one time when a dude I was banging came over with his best friend, and said best friend asked if I'd be willing to let the run a train on me.  I declined immediately (although not because I'm a prude who would never consider taking two guys in immediate succession but because the best friend was fat).  Since I've not had a similar offer since, I can't imagine this scenario is going to be frequent enough to consider going the extra mile and getting bukkaked instead of gangbanged.  I also would never in a million years find a bukkake crew from Craigslist, because I can only imagine the types of winners trolling that shitshow for random people to jizz on.  That's not an option due to sheer public health considerations alone.

I am now curious to know if bukkake ever occurs outside of porn or other branches of the sex industry.  I'm sure there are people who have bukkake parties out there, but is this something that's even remotely common?  Please leave any information you might have on the topic on the comment pages.  Inquiring perverts would like to know.

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# posted by Razzy @ 9:51 AM 1 Comments Links to this post

Sunday, December 28, 2008

 

This shit had dog death written all over it...literally

The other day, my dog-hating friend J-Sexy asked if I planned to go see Marley and Me.  Specifically, she asked, "Are you going to see that movie?  It has one of those disgosting dogs you like in it."  She was making fun of me, because recently I had been telling her about the plot to the world's most upsetting cartoon, The Plague Dogs, and started choking up about it.  A few tears even leaked out.  J-Sexy laughed at me, because she's evil like that.

"Hell to the no!" I responded.  "That dog is obviously going to die and I cannot deal."  Apart from the fact that Jennifer Aniston and Owen Wilson's very existence offends me and I wouldn't see a "dramedy" (AKA shitshow by definition) about these two fucktards enduring the trials and tribulations of domestic life, dog death is a movie theme that I simply cannot cope with.  I still have bad dreams about Where the Red Fern Grows.  I start to sniffle if anyone brings up White Fang, and don't even MENTION Old Yeller around me.  I cried during I Am Legend when the dog died.  Hell, I cried during the remake of The Hills Have Eyes when one of the dogs died!

A while later, LL Cool Jew and I were Gchatting about how much Will Smith's new stinkbomb Seven Pounds is going to suck because that's all Will Smith does, and the topic came up again:
LL Cool Jew: that 7 pounds thing just looks so sure-to-be-shiteous
LL Cool Jew: i wonder which is worse, that or marley and me?
LL Cool Jew: although the latter might be worse because i sense it involves dog death
LL Cool Jew: which is obviously unacceptable
LL Cool Jew: the dog will inevitably die
Razzy: i KNOW that it involves dog death
LL Cool Jew: there is a part in the trailer where owen wilson is sitting in a field with a very graybearded marley
Razzy: i don't like that one bit
LL Cool Jew: and says to himself, "dogs don't care if you're rich or poor..."
LL Cool Jew: which indicates - dog death.
Razzy: "immortal marley without those two d-bags" sounds like a much better movie
Razzy: dude, dogs always die in movies
Razzy: i don't know why i think otherwise
LL Cool Jew: no, no way will i subject myself to that
LL Cool Jew: crying at a jennifer aniston movie
LL Cool Jew: NO THANKS
Razzy: hell to the FUCKING NO!
LL Cool Jew: too humiliating
LL Cool Jew: almost as embarrassing as it was crying at a will smith movie (i am legend)
Razzy: dude i cried at that shit too!
Razzy: jerseygirl leaned over to her boyfriend and was like, "dude, check it out...RAZZY'S CRYING!!"
Razzy: then they laughed at me!
Razzy: i was like "that dog is so sweet and caesary!"
LL Cool Jew: um yes
LL Cool Jew: graphic scenes of doggie violence!!!!
LL Cool Jew: marley and me would be worse
LL Cool Jew: because it would be more along the lines of how our dogs are going to go
Razzy: i know, at least the dog in "i am legend" died in the line of duty
LL Cool Jew: old and infrim
LL Cool Jew: buh
Razzy: can. not. deal.
LL Cool Jew:i can't even think about it
Needless to say, I have not gone to see Marley and Me and I likely never will given the high probability of canine mortality.  However, thanks to some intrepid soul who selflessly braved this cinematic disaster so as to save the rest of us, I now know that this was a wise decision based on an accurate hypothesis:

Mark my words: I will never, EVER see this movie. TRUST.
 

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# posted by Razzy @ 9:10 PM 6 Comments Links to this post

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

 

Not what fantasies are made of

On Saturday, my BFF LL Cool Jew took a quick break from her in-laws to have dumplings and drinks with me.  While we were sitting at P.D. O'Hurley's slugging down Irish coffees, we heard some of the local fellas at the bar talking about how Plaxico Burress "shot himself in the foot."

"Did Plaxico Burress fucking shoot himself?"  LL Cool Jew asked, alarmed, as much of her domestic peace hinges upon the Giants' fortunes.

"That can't be!"  I said, myself alarmed not because of concerns about disrupting my marital bliss, but because Plaxico Burress has been stinking up my Fantasy roster all season.   I immediately scanned the many televisions tuned into College Game Day on ESPN and assumed there would be something on the ticker about it.  I did not see anything about Plaxico shooting himself, so I said, "Nah, dude, it would be all over ESPN if he had.  They must mean figuratively, because of his attitude problems all year."

"I hope so," said LL Cool Jew, looking nervous about the prospect of attending the circus later that day with her husband BigBagel, brother-in-law, and father-in-law, all of whom are rabid Giants fans.

"Me too.  That motherfucker is on my Fantasy team and I was hoping to trade him for a draft pick next year to someone who actually made the playoffs," I said.  Unfortunately, despite my Fantasy team being the defending league champions and looking super hot on paper at the beginning of the season, most of my marquis players failed to do jack shit all season.  The only silver lining is that, though Tha Razzies paralleled the exceptionally disappointing Seattle Seahawks, at least we won more than two fucking games all season.  Therefore, I planned to trade Plax and all these underperforming douchebags for draft picks or better keepers and hope Tha Razzies have a bright season next year. 

LL Cool Jew and I didn't see or hear anything further about Plax at the bar, so I forgot about it until I got home and noticed that she had texted me: "dewd, he DID shoot himself!"  I immediately went to the trusty internets and realized that the moron was at some shitty club carrying the gun in his waistband with the fucking safety off, and, while his foot escaped unscathed, he shot himself through the thigh.  I should add that Plax was not hanging out at some thugged-out shithole in Bed-Stuy or the South Bronx.  He was at the Latin Quarter, located in the utterly non-dangerous Radisson Lexington Hotel in East Midtown, where the salsa band that played LL Cool Jew's wedding performs on Wednesday nights and guests enjoy Chef Ralph Mercado's tasty "LatAsian" creations with their bottle service.  This is the kind of establishment where you are more likely to dodge spray-tanned bridge-and-tunnel types in pastel Kangol hats taking kamikaze shots than bullets.  There is absolutely NO REASON WHATSOEVER, except for validating what an idiotic asshole you actually are, to pack heat at a place like this.

Furthermore, Plaxico told the lamest lie in the history of prevarication when he said he was actually shot at an Applebee's where he ate before he hit the club.  I guess that sounds slightly better than "I accidentally shot myself because my gun WITH THE FUCKING SAFETY OFF started to fall out of my pants while I was holding a drink," but not by much.

LL Cool Jew and BigBagel's crew are not the only ones as outraged as myself at Plaxico's idiotic firearm skills.  Thanks to the greatest newspaper in the history of print journalism, the New York Post, and its fellow tabloid the New York Daily News, I have spent the last three days being reminded of Tha Razzies' grim Fantasy reality every time I walk past a bodega or get on the subway (my favorite is the "GIANT IDIOT!" Post cover):


Now the Giants have suspended and banned Burress for the rest of the season, and are rumored to be getting out of the remainder of his $35 million dollar contract.  It's bad enough that Plaxico might wind up booted from the New York Football Giants, since he'll probably go to the one team that, if Adam "Pac Man" Jones is any indication, welcomes violent criminals with open arms: the hateful Dallas Cowboys.  At least if he goes to the Cowboys, I can probably trade him and watch media hilarity ensue as he tries to coexist with Terrell Owens's ego.  A much worse scenario involves Plaxico's fate at 100 Centre Street, AKA the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse.  New York City has some of the strictest gun control laws in the nation, and possession of an illegal, loaded firearm carries a 3 1/2 year mandatory minimum sentence.  Which means that if Plaxico is convicted in spite of hiring celebrity gun charge lawyer extraordinaire Benjamin Brafman, my Fantasy team goes from disappointing to totally fucked.   Thanks a lot, Plax.

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# posted by Razzy @ 7:50 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Friday, September 26, 2008

 

My new goal: whatever I like

The other day, LL Cool Jew Gchatted me, fretting about the current economic situation.  Don't let any stereotypes you may harbor about her religious extraction fool you; that bitch is about as interested in banking and economics as she is in particle physics, Harlequin romance novels, or doing home repairs, which is to say not at all.  However, in this frightening financial climate, even those of us who are usually blissfully unaware of what goes on in the world of investments and equity and whatnot are forced to pay attention to the dire news coming from Wall Street.  Since as a graduate student and a highly educated humanities grant specialist about to enter the job market, respectively, myself and LL Cool Jew are completely impotent as far as finding any kind of rational solace about how we might cope with the travails currently facing the world.  Therefore, we occupy ourselves with the next best thing: discussion regarding diminutive rapper and self-proclaimed "King of the South" Clifford "T.I." Harris's current single "Whatever You Like," an ode to buying all sorts of luxurious shit for the chick he's banging, and rapper ternt sanga Faheem "T-Pain" Najm's current single "Can't Believe It," which is basically about the same thing except flavored with T-Pain's inexplicable desire for cold-weather real estate.  Our employment prospects may be grim and our country may be headed for utter ruin and disaster, but at least we can fantasize about dating ballers with the means to make us say, "Economy?  What economy?"
LL Cool Jew: stacks on deck
LL Cool Jew: patron on ice
Razzy: LOL
Razzy: (who drinks patron on ice?)
LL Cool Jew: dear t.i., i will tell you what i would like: to listen to this jam on repeat for the remainder of the hour. many thanks, llcj.
LL Cool Jew: TYXO!
Razzy: LOL
LL Cool Jew: i am really dumb but also, what are stacks on deck?
LL Cool Jew: i am so white
LL Cool Jew: TOTZ WHITE
Razzy: i'm assuming it means money that he's going to make
Razzy: future money
Razzy: projected income
LL Cool Jew: AAAAH
Razzy: let me check urban dictionary
LL Cool Jew: yes please
Razzy: oh oops
Razzy: it's soulja boy's record label!
Razzy: AKA "SOD Money Gang"
LL Cool Jew: really????
LL Cool Jew: that's dumb
Razzy: oh, also urban dictionary says it means "to have a lot of money" or "to have money when u need it. Never run out"
LL Cool Jew: You know them old sugar daddies...they be trickin', they tell them...
LL Cool Jew: see you were 100% right on!!
LL Cool Jew: "projected income"!
LL Cool Jew: dude
LL Cool Jew: when i listen to this song
LL Cool Jew: i realize how awesome it would be to be screwing a multimillionaire.
Razzy: well YEAH
Razzy: gas up the jet and you can go wherever you like
Razzy: if you date t.i.
LL Cool Jew: i wish someone would tell ME i won't never, never have to go in my wallet. :(
Razzy: get a mansion in wisconsin if you date t-pain
Razzy: i KNOW
Razzy: the last date i went on I PAID
LL Cool Jew: and i love the really insistent way he goes, MY CHICK GET WHATEVER SHE WANT!
Razzy: that was my choice
Razzy: i volunteered to pay because i like the guy and i'm all modern like that
Razzy: although like many of my speculative ventures, that investment turned out to be a bust
Razzy: but still, i only date poor or at best middle class people
LL Cool Jew: srsly
LL Cool Jew: no big boy ice for us.
Razzy: i have to be I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T
LL Cool Jew: LAME.
Razzy: i know, especially since i can't afford all the gucci that lil' boosie and webbie claim their independent women bestow on them
LL Cool Jew: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Razzy: at least there's still hope for me
Razzy: you're married to a journalist
LL Cool Jew: yeah but maybe one day i'll be the executive director of a rich-ass charitable foundation...
Razzy: well exax
LL Cool Jew: stacks on deck, patron on ice...
LL Cool Jew: (see, repeat)
Razzy: hahaha
LL Cool Jew: (TI is giving me what i like)
Razzy: will you really drink patron on ice?
Razzy: i guess i would if that's what ti wanted me to drink
LL Cool Jew: i mean i don't really fuck with tequila
Razzy: tequila on the rocks, no less
Razzy: why can't rappers be into scotch?!
LL Cool Jew: maybe if it were watered down
LL Cool Jew: i mean, if ti's buying, i'm trying
Razzy: i guess "dalmorangie on ice" doesn't quite have the same ring to it
LL Cool Jew: i could probably look right into his eyes in heels...
Razzy: lol
LL Cool Jew: he's so lil.
Razzy: that's why he's buying whatever you like
Razzy: he's overcompensating
LL Cool Jew: dude if t.i. gave me his black card he would so regret it
LL Cool Jew:i would destroy him
LL Cool Jew: he needs to put you up in a condo way up in toronto
Razzy: or a log cabin in aspen
LL Cool Jew: neither of those sound particularly attractive right???
LL Cool Jew: certainly not Wiscansin
LL Cool Jew: why is tpain so into cold weather if he's from Miami?
Razzy: he's from tallahassee, actually, that's what the "t" stands for, but whatevs
Razzy: t-pain was hard up for places that rhymed with condo, cabin, and mansion
Razzy: and he wants what he doesn't know...it's all exotic
LL Cool Jew: hate to break it to you tpain, there is nothing exotical about wiscansin
LL Cool Jew: ooh, so what is a Marcialago or whatever?
LL Cool Jew: faincy car?
Razzy: i believe a murcielago is a type of lamborghini
Razzy: i am amazed that he can pronounce "murcielago" but not "wisconsin"
LL Cool Jew: the car is more expensive
Razzy: than a mansion in wisconsin? probably
LL Cool Jew: probably!!!!!
Razzy: i imagine real estate in america's dairyland is cheap
LL Cool Jew: esp. in those heinous suburban subdivisions
Razzy: do you think t-pain means a mcmansion?
LL Cool Jew: definitely
Razzy: or something like designed by frank lloyd wright
LL Cool Jew: i am pretty sure he doesn't care much for historic architecture
Razzy: probably not
LL Cool Jew: since those places rarely include revolving jasmine-scented hottubs
I think it's pretty much decided.  I need to become some type of rap star, or at least start screwing one.  This grad school bullshit isn't going to give me "whatever I like."  I'm not sure what exactly that entails, but revolving jasmine-scented hot tubs sounds pretty good, as does "stacks on deck," any kind of premium liquor on ice, and a private jet at my disposal.  And since the reality is that I'll probably be a Ph.D-educated bread line lingerer once our country's economy totally collapses, I might as well shoot for the stars and make "whatever I like" my new career ambition.

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# posted by Razzy @ 6:13 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

 

And may we officially welcome you to the clam bake, Linds

Well over a year ago, my BFF LL Cool Jew astutely observed Lindsay Lohan's Smith College hat and postulated that indeed she had pulled up a seat at the sushi bar with clam-digging DJ Samantha Ronson.  I concurred that Lindsay Lohan had most likely decided that she liked her tacos pink, and spent all the time since highlighting evidence (like dispatching missives from rehab signed "Lindsay Ronson" and making out on random yachts on the French riviera and talking marriage) supporting our theory.

Of course, we weren't the only ones promoting this hypothesis.  The buzz about Samantha Ronson getting face-deep in Lohan's firecrotch really exploded when scenes like this started occurring regularly, contradicting Fat Joe's (unbelievable and totally nast) claim that Lindsay Lohan is his "O-jam":


However, the other night Sam called into "Loveline" to talk about how DJ AM's face has melted off, and because like any good lesbian couple these two may as well be conjoined, Linds was listening in and snagged the phone at one point.  She then confirmed that indeed they moved Sam's turntables into Lindsay's condo many menses ago and have been delighting in their season tickets to the Sparks ever since.  LL Cool Jew and I immediately took to bragging about how we SO called it.
LL Cool Jew: lezlo confirms relationship!!!
Razzy: i know i saw
Razzy: i mean, so anticlimactic
Razzy: like "i hope dj am gets better. duh we're gay"
LL Cool Jew: LOL
Razzy: but let's be real
Razzy: WE knew she had a reserved table at the sushi bar the day she donned that smith college hat!
LL Cool Jew: i love how their nine-month relationship counts as "a very long time" in Lohan Years
Razzy: 9 months?
Razzy: haven't they been having tacos for two for like 3 years?
Razzy: you first spotted that smith hat in like 2005 or 2006!
Razzy: oh nevermind, that was may 2007
LL Cool Jew: TOTALLY!
Razzy: according to my blog date
Razzy: so one year at least!
LL Cool Jew: we should crow about that for the rest of our lives
Now it is even more official than our respective Smith College diplomas: LL Cool Jew and I have lesbadar beyond reproach, and we can spot a pair of boobmashers long before the story hits the mainstream press.   Our gayelle detection skills are more precise than an atomic fucking clock.  Seriously, we can pick a Birkenstock jock out of a crowd from a mile away even if she's wearing a sickeningly expensive pair of Louboutins and a set of cocksucker leggings instead of something sensible and shapeless.   I suspect that LL Cool Jew is correct when she notes that we should crow about how on point we are when it comes to picking muff divers out of a lineup for the rest of our lives.  I have no doubt that we will.

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# posted by Razzy @ 10:25 AM 2 Comments Links to this post

Monday, August 18, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Bela Karolyi


Name: Béla Károlyi

DOB: September 13, 1942

Occupation: retired Olympic gymsnatchtits coach, NBC analyst, 

Hometown: Cluj-Napoca, Romania

Current residence: Houston, Texas

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: After closet lesbian and frat party pugilist Alicia Sacramone took fourth in the vault, Bob Costas attempted to make a predictable funny about his color commentator: "You might be surprised to hear that Bela Karolyi has an opinion about the judging." "Yes I do!" shouted Bela, who proceeded to rant about how Alicia Sacramone was "ripped off" when her flawed but serviceable vaults scored lower than one of China's vaulting twelve-year-olds who landed on her knees. I was enjoying Bela's typically amusing zealous affront perpetrated by the injustices of the judging system. He declared it "the greatest error of the scoring in this whole thing" and qualified that with a lot of expository language about his emotions delivered in his patented Yoda-meets-Transylvanian minstrel tone. I knew LL Cool Jew, a total Olympics addict, was stuck in an airport and had already suffered from some misinformation (some idiot stranger told her that the Chinese beach volleyball team beat my hot assed girlfriend Misty May-Treanor and texted me in alarm). I texted her about Bela, so that she could at least try to experience his awesomeness for herself.
Bela Karolyi on vault judging: 'a total reep off...my heart is breeking for alicia sacaramonee. How you can do this? I am getting eemotional.'
LL Cool Jew must already have boarded her flight, because she didn't get back to me. However, JerseyGirl texted me out of nowhere instead:
JerseyGirl: Omg behind the scenes of the hills, justin bobby is smokin 
Razzy: Lol. M watchn olympics but will switch over at commercial
JerseyGirl: Lc and heidi come face to face in season 4 in a drunken fight. It looks amazing. Btdubs bela karolyi–daily dude i wanna hit him
Razzy: zomg bela is awesome
JerseyGirl: Hes the hotness
While an intoxicated catfight between Lauren Conrad and Heidi Montag–ESPECIALLY if the dirty and despicable yet hate-fuckably hot Justin Bobby is somehow involved–sounds compelling, I kept watching the Olympics. I care more about listening to Bela Karolyi excoriate the pro-China, age-faking, score-fixing factions in Olympic gymsnatchtits judging than whether or not Heidi and Spencer leaked LC's interminably boring sex tape because LC was generally a bitch of a roommate and fake best friend. Bela Karolyi is indeed awesome, and he's the hotness, and he's basically every other conjurable superlative. 

I don't even care if Bela Karolyi built champion gymnasts in the past with a deft combination of starvation, self-esteem deconstruction, and verbal abuse. I love Bela.  I would consider it an honor, a privilege, and a pleasure to be berated by him.  I'm sad that gymsnatchtit competition is almost over, because I will miss watching him roar nonsensically in either exuberance or rage at Bob Costas about Team USA versus Team China.   Bela doesn't give a fuck, and thinks nothing of call China "arrogant cheaters" or calling the Chinese and Russian judges "inexcusable" and "abominable" on international TV from Beijing, probably while the Olympics thought police hover around dying to pull the plug.  In fact, he peppers excited shouts of "GOOD GIRL!" praising the gymnasts of Team USA with his rants about the Olympic powers that be, all the while waving his hands and shaking his fists like he's making a propaganda speech on behalf of his own local politburo in the People's Republic of Bela Karolyi Awesomeness.

In case you have been living under a rock or you're one of those losers who doesn't watch TV and thus haven't yet witnessed Bela in action, feast your eyes.  He's like a Transylvanian bear on crack with a giant, industrial broom mustache, and he rules harder than Nicolae Ceaucescu back in the days before Bela defected to the good old U.S. of A. 

Bela final
by bsap11

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# posted by Razzy @ 4:18 AM 2 Comments Links to this post

Thursday, July 24, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: teenager phones


Name: the LG Rumor

DOB: 2008?

Occupation: texting like what

Hometown: probably some factory in China

Current residence: my hot little hands

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness:  I've been in bad emotional shape the last few days, but nothing cheers a bitch up like getting a new toy, whether it be a pair of shoes, a Sharper Image "body massager" (and I think you can guess which part of my body I use those to massage), or some fancy electronic gadget.  In this case, it's the latter.  My old phone was a beat-up piece of shit that actually got a huge crack in it, so it was time to make like Beyonce and upgrade that trash.  Apart from it's general state of mechanical failure, my biggest problem with my old phone was its lack of a keyboard led to it taking FOREVER to send text messages.  I generally hate talking on the phone, so unless I'm trying to catch up with my family or friends sufficiently far away to not see in person, I always prefer to text.  Needless to say, my old phone was failing miserably at enabling me to do this efficiently.

Therefore, when I went to re-up, I totally purchased this phone with a slide-out keyboard of the class LL Cool Jew refers to as "teenager phones."  This refers to the fact that all the kids these days seem to have one of these things that they can text the pedophiles they meet on MySpace easily with, and everywhere you go you see them texting and IMing furiously on these contraptions.  LL Cool Jew has a teenager phone herself, and has been encouraging me to get one ever since she acquired her EnV or whatever, so she was delighted when I informed her that my LG Rumor arrived.  Her specific response was actually "YYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!  QWERTY MCQWERTERSON!"  

I know it's pretty lame to Daily Dude my new cell phone, especially since it's not an iPhone or a BlackBerry or something super fancy that does everything save wipe my ass and walk my dogs.  However, if you've been using something for the last few years that, in terms of technical evolution, is barely removed from an empty can tied to a piece of string, you would be elated about your teenager phone too.  So text me, bitches!

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# posted by Razzy @ 7:11 AM 2 Comments Links to this post

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: male strippers


Name: in the case of my friend Wmania's bachelorette party this past weekend, it was "Brad" pictured above

DOB: ???

Occupation: disrobing for cash

Hometown: ???

Current residence: in Brad's case, somewhere near Washington, DC

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness:  My friend LL Cool Jew is the matron of honor in our college buddy Wmania's wedding, so naturally she took it upon herself to organize the wedding shower and bachelorette party, and the latter means one thing: hiring some professional semi-nude entertainment.  Since before she married BigBagel, LL Cool Jew was a lesbian, we took her to Scores for her bachelorette party and had her literally covered in writhing topless ladies for three hours.  Wmania, despite being a Smith alumna herself, has previously shown minimal interest in those without a Y chromosome, so LL Cool Jew realized that to return the favor, she ought to get a male stripper.

Initially, we planned to get a midget stripper to hump a small donkey, because Wmania used to work for the Democrats and because a midget would probably make the somewhat prudish Wmania go into convulsions from the shock.  However, we couldn't track down a midget, so we had to find a regular-sized sausage showoff.  Thus, LL Cool Jew called Amazing Entertainment and hired some dude named Brad.  

The night before the bachelorette party, Brad called LL Cool Jew to get an idea of his audience.  "Well, some of the crowd might be a little...conservative," she explained.

"I appreciate your candor," Brad replied.  "Would you do me a favor and ensure those ladies have a few cocktails before the appointed time?"

"Dude, he was really professional," remarked LL Cool Jew, after assuring him that we'd get the "conservative" ladies (specifically the bride-to-be) sufficiently liquored up prior to his performance.   Later she noted that she was fascinated by her "first official transaction in the sex industry" (although I've seen that hooker stuffing bills into plenty a lady's G-string, so that's not entirely accurate). We were all looking forward to seeing the candor-loving Brad demonstrate his professional skills.

The next night we adorned Wmania in the typical bachelorette party crap, including the piece de resistance, a blinking penis tiara.  We popped a case of champagne and between the eight of us, finished it in two hours like the champion alcoholics we are.  Then, the gracious hostess admitted Brad, claiming he was her neighbor.

"Oh my God, DUDE," exclaimed Wmania.  "I know what's going on here."

Brad actually wasn't that great looking.  According to FalloniusMonk, he actually looked like a grotesquely swollen Kevin Bacon.  However, he was indeed very nice and professional (before beginning he advised us that he has two rules: no video although still pictures are fine, and no punching him in the nuts).  He also managed to lay Wmania on the floor and remove dollar bills from her ginormous rack with his teeth without her looking too exceptionally uncomfortable.  While she didn't look as though she enjoyed Brad's attentions much, the rest of us were laughing.  Naturally, when her turn was over and Brad asked who was next, she pointed right at me and said "RAZZY!"

I sat down on Brad's provided stepstool and while he gave me a lap dance, I whispered in his ear that I wasn't one of the conservative ladies LL Cool Jew had mentioned in her briefing the day before.

"Okay, then you want to do something crazy?" he asked.

"Sure, why not?"  I said.

"Are you wearing panties?"

I thought for a minute.  "Amazingly, I am," I replied.

"Are you scared of heights?"

"Nope."

"Okay, get ready to fly," he said.  Then he grabbed my ass and did this:


I stuffed my entire wad of dollars into his G-string for giving me an extended face ride.  Granted, I had a bunch of residual fake tanner and coconut oil on my thighs afterward, but it was well worth it just for the expression on Wmania's face while Brad twirled me around the room and tried to avoid hitting my head on any light fixtures.  

Later, after Brad departed, the ladies were discussing it, and there were a lot of comments going around describing the experience of watching a jiggling beefcake as "gross" and "disgusting."  I was surprised because, while not necessarily a sexy experience, I thought it was hilarious.  Generally I think male strippers are pretty boring, because mainly all they do is waggle their thong-clad packages at you and give lame lap dances, they don't smell as nice as lady strippers, and there's usually some kind of oil on them which can stain clothing.  However, I have to recognize a male stripper who incorporates a lot of sexually suggestive participatory acrobatics into his routine.  I might dispute his website's claim of him being the embodiment of male perfection (on account of his not being a black doctor, a Jewish nerd, an MIT graduate, or a swarthy rogue), but I have to applaud his dedication to a lively and interactive performance.  I almost always prefer female peelers, as they have breasts and are generally prettier than the generic beefcakes dominating the sausage-swanging circuit.  Besides, male strippers never show their weiners, and I can look at a Calvin Klein ad if I want to see some well-defined pecs.  However, when a male stripper can actually make up for his cock shyness and overcompensating muscles by inducing hysterical laughter, I have to give my wholehearted approval.  Well played, Brad.  I salute your professionalism.

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# posted by Razzy @ 7:36 AM 1 Comments Links to this post

Friday, June 27, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: my friends




Name: LL Cool Jew, JerseyGirl, and Twathopper

DOB: various times throughout 1981

Occupation: history nerd, cable news producer, PR flunky

Hometown: San Francisco, CA; West Longbranch, NJ; Philadelphia, PA

Current residence: New Orleans, Louisiana and New York, New York

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: The last couple of days I was feeling VERY un-Razzified on account of receiving one of the most personally mean "thanks but no thanks" sentiments in history, and I actually had to do something I rarely do: call my friends for emotional support (as opposed to the normal calling my friends to plan where we are drinking/watching Bev Niner). Usually I'm the one doling out all the moral support and making jokes to add some levity to someone else's personal crisis, but I am very thankful that on the rare occasions I'm feeling acutely down and in total crybaby mode, my friends are more than willing to return the favor at their inconvenience. The other night, JerseyGirl and Twathopper both dropped work obligations to rush up to Harlem and drink some brew dogs with me. Then, after listening to me blubber about my hurt feelings and reminded me how badass I am, encourage me to perform an open mic night rendition of my appalling 15-year-old lezzie poetry.

LL Cool Jew kept me on the phone for awhile, which was very kind of her considering she's fretting deeply because her husband is in civil war-torn and journalist-hating Sri Lanka right now, and because she got into a really awful car accident the day before. LL Cool Jew was so great with the scorned woman vitriol (her response to the guy who hurt my feelings–and more specifically the manner in which he hurt my feelings– was "I WANT HIM DEAD!"), that she actually called BigBagel in Sri Lanka to tell him about it, and when she told him that the "I don't want to go out for drinks within the context of a date because you're a big slut who talks about your abortion" schtick was presented in a "for your own good" sort of way, he responded, "Does this mean I get to tell that guy a few things for his own good?" In addition to rallying her family beneath the Razzy Apologist banner, she was also super sweet. After learning about the falling death and decapitation of my beloved St. Francis of Assisi idol, she promptly went straight on to a bunch of Catholic websites and, after noting that my people have the "trinkets-for-salvation" market cornered, purchased me a replacement.

Even hard-ass bitches like myself have their weak spots. One of mine starts with "A" and rhymes with "gabortion," and to have this brought up in the context it was the other day by a person purporting to be my "friend" was a complete shock to me. I've got a pretty thick skin, but hearing someone say that you are an undesirable person because of how you deal with your life's most significant problems is crushing and horrible. Most of the time, I can say "FUCK YOU, HATER!" and give the offending party a well-deserved douchebagging. On rare circumstances, though, somebody hits a really sensitive nerve, and I turn into a sobbing, self-loathing ball of jelly. Let's face it...I don't think I'm really fooling anyone for too long with the whole "I'm Razzy and you're not, so suck it!" attitude I present to the world. As LL Cool Jew once put it, "You keep all that sweetness so hidden away, but you don't need to feel bad when some of it sneaks out!" Deep down, I'm really just an emotionally vulnerable poetry-writing girl who uses my aggressive, no-bullshit, exceedingly honest demeanor as a shield against being hurt and feeling bad. When someone actually manages to penetrate my fomidable exterior and hits a tender spot, I need strong, loving friends to lean on until I regain my "fuck you" legs. I'm really lucky to have friends like LL Cool Jew, JerseyGirl, and Twathopper (as well as MillerTime, J-Sexy, HotLawyer, and Morrissey'sHair, who have all been patient enough to listen to me bitch about this situation at one point or another), who care about me and are ready and willing to show me how much when I really need it. Thanks, you guys, for helping me get my Razzification back. I love you and you are the best.

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# posted by Razzy @ 4:30 AM 1 Comments Links to this post

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

 

OS X is a fucking pussy

I should rename this website "HatingOnApple Blog" after this week.  I thought that between my rants about Coldplay, the Apple Store, and the Genius Bar and TAFKAMA's indictment of the entire brand, the topic of anti-Apple sentiments had been thoroughly explored.  However, today while rejoicing in the return of my computer and simultaneously Gchatting with LL Cool Jew, I remembered one other thing I totally despise about being a Mac user.
LL Cool Jew: is it [my freshly repaired computer] working yet?
Razzy: yes precious!
Razzy: thank god
Razzy: but i can't transfer my stewpid files
LL Cool Jew: woohoo!
Razzy: from my backup thang
LL Cool Jew: you techie
Razzy: because the "Tiger" OS X that I have now has a stupid inept "Migration Asst"
Razzy: before i used the "Leopard" OS X
LL Cool Jew: tiger
LL Cool Jew: leopard?
Razzy: but i can't install that trash until my PI [boss] gets back from vacation
LL Cool Jew: what is this, kung fu panda?
Razzy: dude another thing to hate about apple
Razzy: they name their various versions of OS X after large jungle cats
Razzy: OS 10.1 is "cheetah" or "puma"
Razzy: OS 10.2 is "jaguar"
Razzy: OS 10.3 is "panther"
Razzy: OS 10.4 is "tiger"
Razzy: OS 10.5 is "leopard"
LL Cool Jew: wiggity wack
LL Cool Jew: could they just make One that works?
Razzy: and OS 10.6 is gonna be "snow leopard"
Razzy: SERIOUSLY
LL Cool Jew: i hate how they come out with a better thing every year
Razzy: actually OS X works fine
LL Cool Jew: you can never have teh coolest gadget
Razzy: but this computer is built out of fucking recycled 6-pack rings
Razzy: luckily, my PI is a big Mac ho
Razzy: so i get all the updates without paying
Razzy: but the whole feline theme is definitely another "check minus" against Apple
LL Cool Jew: they should name them after doggers! :)
LL Cool Jew: 10.3 the pug
Razzy: YES! CHONGAY!
LL Cool Jew: 10.7 the lhasa apso
LL Cool Jew: 10.8 the dingo
Razzy: although 10.3 would be the laziest operating system ever
LL Cool Jew: 10.9 THE D [the D=LL Cool Jew's perpetually terrified longhaired Chihuahua]
Razzy: and THAT would offer NO protection against viruses and spyware
Razzy: and the computer would urinate on you when it crashes
LL Cool Jew: ooooooo
Razzy: that e-mail was RELLAY scaray
LL Cool Jew: the d would be the kewtest operating system ever.
I'm hardly surprised that the Mac marketers in charge of selling new versions of OS X are cat people. I hate cats, and I distrust the motives of people who prefer cats over dogs.  Dogs are a species of animal that overflows with loyalty, love, and usefulness, while cats don't give a shit about humans and would probably eat their owners if they could.  Choosing cats over dogs signifies a major personality flaw to me.  So once again, even though I have my computer back and am happy with its freshly functioning brand new hard drive and keyboard with a working "control" and "øptíön" key, I have to express my stern disapproval for the way those assholes do things in Cupertino.  Stupid cat-named operating system-running Macs!

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# posted by Razzy @ 5:57 AM 0 Comments Links to this post
 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: the U.S. Women's Olympic Gymnastics Team


Name: so far, Shawn Johnson and (hottest name in gymnastics ever) Nastia Liukin; probably also Alicia Sacramone, Chellsie Memmel, and Samantha Peszek, too

DOB: 1988-1994

Occupation: kicking some Chinese gymnastics team ass (and the rest of the world's too) in Beijing come August!

Hometown: everywhere from Des Moines, Iowa to Moscow, Russia

Current residence: wherever Marta Karolyi is running her Olympics team training camp

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness:  Sunday night, LL Cool Jew and I were watching the U.S. Olympics Trials in women's gymnastics.  LL Cool Jew is Olympics-crazy, so I can always count on her to do some interstate trial watching via text message.  Since girls–including me–seem to invariably have an innate interest in gymnastics, I figured that she would be watching this for sure and I wasn't wrong.  In fact, the only thing that kept her from the whole thing was some wedding shower she had to attend.
Razzy: R u watchn the olympic trials?
LL Cool Jew: dude! just got hm from shittastic bridal showr. takn th dogs out thn change thn trials!  s th gymnastics on yet?
Razzy: Yes! Gymsnatchtits on now!
LL Cool Jew: did u know this yrs wmns gymnastics team may b th strongest ever?? shawn johnson, nastia liukin n chellsie memmel r the 1s 2 watch!
Razzy: Shawn johnson just won a trip 2 beijing!
LL Cool Jew: o shit! i'll b on th couch in 5
LL Cool Jew: shit! is it over??
Razzy: Almost. Some loser prancn 2 tocatta and fugue
Razzy: Dude i wld have a kells jam 4 my floor routine
LL Cool Jew: just turned it on. dont they look less deprived n hungry as gymnasts usually r?
Razzy: Yes! They all have t & a.
Razzy: I miss bela karolyis crazy ass on the gymnasty scene
Razzy: Shawn johnson s such a bitch. I can tell.
LL Cool Jew: u r so mean! she was gracious. n dont worry abt misn bela, his wifes th coach now. he'll b around
Razzy: I m such a hater but m telln u: sj s a nightmare when the cameras r off
LL Cool Jew: omg have u seen alicia scarmone. she is my girlfriend dude
Razzy: S that ths blonde ho?
Razzy: Her taste n music sux hard
LL Cool Jew: kinda dark blond. blue leotard. h o t.
Razzy: Floor exercise music blows
Razzy: Ths music s like carnaval meets a rave n the basement of emerson house. Lame
LL Cool Jew: i thnk th us womens gymnastics team is th daily dude. shawn johnson n nastia l. r th no. 1 & 2 gymnsts n th world! we will dominate! u! s! a!
LL Cool Jew: vault n esp balance beam r th best (and most dangerous)
Razzy: Balance beam blows my mind
LL Cool Jew: i know! th level of difficulty is such that its hard 2 fathom what yr seeing s evn possible
LL Cool Jew: o! n ths chelsea memml was the 2003 world champion but got injurd n cdnt go 2 athens n now shes makn her big comeback!
LL Cool Jew: watch: sj on wheaties box *with a quickness*
Razzy: Trust. I thnk nastia s hot n has a hot ass name
LL Cool Jew: her eyes are wonky. her name s scary.
LL Cool Jew: they hate each other
Razzy: Shes a terror n the sack. Shes nastia!
Razzy: Id hit it w nastia liukin
LL Cool Jew: shes 16
Razzy: Alicia sacramone is hot. Id hit that 2
LL Cool Jew: and shes 20! but i saw her first
LL Cool Jew: nastia s 16. alicia s 20.
Razzy: 16? My bad. Again, cue the bump n grind remix
Razzy: Ill look up nastia n 2 years
LL Cool Jew: alicia sacarmone has lesbish body language
Razzy: Shes no stranger to a clam bake 4 sure
Razzy: Yes! Bela!
LL Cool Jew: theres bela
In addition to being excited about the appearance of the excessively energetic Bela Karolyi and feeling sufficiently gross for having dirty lesbian fantasies about a 16-year-old, I am really looking forward to watching our national gymnastics team kick some international ass come August.  I did some internets research on the ladies, and surmised that LL Cool Jew's prediction of Olympic glory for our gymnasts is very, very possible.  I also checked Wikipedia and discovered that Nastia Liukin is actually 18, so I'm marginally less of a creep.  Shawn Johnson, bitch though I think she is behind closed doors, apparently does the most technically difficult, complicated gymnastics moves in the sport.  Nastia Liukin has won four all-around world championships.  Alicia Sacramone has seven various world championship medals under her leotard belt, and Chellsie Memmel also has an all-around world championship, and has two separate moves named after her.  These bitches are totally fierce and they are going to kick ass.  Plus, as LL Cool Jew pointed out, they do not look as emaciated as gymnasts typically do.  All these ladies have at least A cups (which for a gymnast is an unbelievable rack) and many of them have fine, round asses.  I do not feel as disturbed as I normally do watching elite gymnasts running around in their leotards, because they actually appear to have gone through puberty and don't look like super athletic versions of Gollum.

Apparently, the next day, LL Cool Jew got into it with her mother about our gymnastics team.  LL Cool Jew's mom is a kung fu master who used to work as a bodyguard for the Black Panthers in the 70s, and her radical leanings apparently stunt her patriotism somewhat.  In spite of the fact that I know LL Cool Jew's mom watches the Olympics, she apparently roots for foreigners "on principle."
LL Cool Jew: you know
LL Cool Jew: i just have to tell you this story about my mom
LL Cool Jew: you will so be the exact right person to tell about this
Razzy: k
LL Cool Jew: she is 100% the person ronald reagan meant when he talked about the "blame america first crowd"
Razzy: lol for realz
LL Cool Jew: we were talking about the u.s. women's gymnastics team
LL Cool Jew: i was remarking on how dominant they will be
Razzy:: she started to hate?
LL Cool Jew: and i had the temerity to add a little "U! S! A!" at the end
Razzy: i love the U! S! A!
Razzy: that is like my favorite american thing to do
LL Cool Jew: she totz went ballistic
LL Cool Jew: about how jingoistic i was being
LL Cool Jew: and i was like
LL Cool Jew: HOLD ON LADY.
Razzy: "jingoistic"
Razzy: lol
LL Cool Jew: the olympics are ALL ABOUT NATIONALISM
Razzy: sorry, mom, but you ARE american
LL Cool Jew: and do you think your precious CHINESE aren't approaching this as the most major NATIONALISTIC DEMONSTRATION IN THEIR 5000-YEAR HISTORY????
Razzy: either love the olympics or STFU!
Razzy: well, for fucking real!
Razzy: is she rooting for china?
LL Cool Jew: she DOES love teh olympics but she likes to root for foreigners on principle!
LL Cool Jew: what principle? don't ask
LL Cool Jew: i don't know
LL Cool Jew: BLAME AMERICA FIRST i guess
LL Cool Jew: and i was like look
LL Cool Jew: the economy's in the shitter
LL Cool Jew: we have a craptastic and emabrrassing president
LL Cool Jew: the dollar ain't worth a damn
LL Cool Jew: we could use some cheering up!
Razzy: let's get excited about our gymsnatchtits team!
LL Cool Jew: nothing like a good old-fashioned display of american excellence to perk us up!
Even if LL Cool Jew's mom isn't feeling it, I'm still convinced that our gymnastics team is going to smote some Chinese and Romanian and Russian and every other gymnastics-loving nation's ruin on the mountainside. USA! U!S!A! U!S!A!

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# posted by Razzy @ 4:23 AM 1 Comments Links to this post

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

 

Hottest Smith alumnae on the planet

It's that time of the quarter again! What time, you ask? Time for the new edition of the Smith Alumnae Quarterly! What do you mean, "I didn't go to Smith, I don't get the Smith Alumnae Quarterly?" You don't have to go to Smith to read the greatest magazine in the world! Who wouldn't want to read articles about subjects like a scrappy band of student activists creatively calling themselves "Coke Off Campus" rallied together on behalf of bottling plant employees in Colombia (seriously, they bottle COKE at sweatshops...in Colombia?) and India to ban Coca-Cola products from the Campus Center, or how some chick got a job at Google thanks to the all-powerful alumnae network (which, I should add, has yet to do shit for me besides give Tej Bindra my home address so she could conspire with her friends to get me raped by an inadvertent pervert on Craigslist)? This shit is more informative than the damn Economist!

Okay, I kid...I don't even get the SAQ anymore since I think they put me on probation after the Tej Offensive, which was started by Tej Bindra '07 calling me an assfuck and suggesting I get some Zoloft to treat my tendency to make fun of dumb SAQ articles about the dorm room she shared with her fellow flatchested Dar Williams aficionado. The last time I got a SAQ, I promptly douchebagged the entire magazine, and I think that was the last straw that broke the cameltoe's back. Presumably they booted me from the subscription list, because I haven't received a SAQ since. Oh well, who needs a SAQ to prove that she's got a "baccalaureum artibus" degree from Smith when she's got a fancy leather bound diploma--with seals and Latin and everything--tucked safely away in her bedside table with her vibrators, condoms, and lube?

Anyway, there's a section in the back of the SAQ that you can send updates to about whatever the fuck you've been up to at Smith. Usually it's along the lines of "some dumb bitch from Talbot House got married" or "some dumb bitch from Chase House just had her second kid" or "some dumb bitch from Northrop House just got another master's degree." Luckily, my friends have JerseyGirl to send in our updates. JerseyGirl is on the board of the Smith College Club of New York, and while she's given up trying to get me to do things like attend Christmas tree lightings on Sundays during NFL season or go to $100-a-head art history lectures, she felt duty bound to report on how our little group of friends has been keeping busy. Unfortunately, she probably had one too many brewdogs before she sent off our update:
JerseyGirl '02 is a television news producer in Manhattan. She was recently elected to the New York Smith club board of directors and organizes events and parties for the club. JerseyGirl hangs out with Razzy '00, FalloniusMonk '01, and Rack '01, during monthly 90210 parties and weekly get-togethers that include cooking and watching the awesomeness that is VH1 reality programming...JerseyGirl regularly sees lots of other Smithies in New York City, most of whom were at the wedding of LL Cool Jew '02 in April '07.
This rules so hard. While everyone else was out getting married, procreating, or adding more letters behind their name, JerseyGirl announces that we've all been watching Bev Niner and "I Love New York." She seems embarrassed that she actually bragged to the SAQ that we're into "the awesomeness that is VH1 reality programming" instead of the typical boring Smith alumnae crap. I mean, I have gotten two master's degrees since Smith and by next year I'm going to make every motherfucker I meet call me "Doctor," but who cares about that? I'd certainly rather hear about how we loyally watch DVDs of the greatest show in the history of television and teach JerseyGirl how to make grilled cheese sandwiches during commercial breaks in "Flavor of Love 3" and "The Hills." Smith College must be so proud.

Go Pioneers!

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# posted by Razzy @ 7:02 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Monday, June 16, 2008

 

Continue the smears

LL Cool Jew pointed out last week that Barack Obama has a site dedicated to correcting all the idiotic lies that "proven GOP sleazemeisters" in the media are making up about him entitled "Fight the Smears."


This site refutes claims that ignorant, racist morons believe about Barack Obama, like he is supposedly Muslim, is secretly not American, doesn't say the Pledge of Allegiance, Michelle Obama is racist, and other absurd nonsense like that.
LL Cool Jew: dude
LL Cool Jew: THIS
LL Cool Jew: is amazing
LL Cool Jew: http://my.barackobama.com/page/content/fightthesmearshome/
LL Cool Jew: i mean
LL Cool Jew: wow
Razzy: people are so dumb
LL Cool Jew: i bet my relatives are the ones saying this shit
LL Cool Jew: "Proven GOP sleazemeister "
Razzy: "Senator Obama was sworn in with a Koran"
Razzy: "Barack Obama won't say the pledge of allegiance"
LL Cool Jew: dude i'm totz looking at senator obama's birth certificate
LL Cool Jew: maybe we can open a credit card account in his name?
Razzy: YES!
Razzy: then i can go to wmania's wedding!
Razzy: courtesy of losing presidential candidate barack obama!
LL Cool Jew: damn. script too small.
Razzy: no SSN either
Razzy: :(
LL Cool Jew: View video of Barack leading The Pledge of Allegiance in the United States Senate
LL Cool Jew: is this boy scouts????
LL Cool Jew: Barack Obama Loves His Flag and His Country
Razzy: well i can't see him putting his hand over his heart!
Razzy: maybe i should insinuate on my website that he hates freedom and America
Razzy: and then Obama's site can call me a "proven GOP sleazemeister"
Razzy: and i'll get lots of traffic and thus money!
Yes, the anti-Obama smear campaign and its acceptance by the legions of idiots who will believe anything so long as it caters to their latent bigoted paranoia sounds to me like KA-CHING! Seriously, joining the ranks of "proven GOP sleazemeisters" is a golden opportunity to pick up some unique hits! GOP sleazemeisters do well these days, and as am I both voting for the hotness known as Senator John McCain (R-AZ) and I am a total breast-baring skank, I think I fit the bill for the titles of both "GOP" and "sleazemeister." So, without further ado, I'm going to fight Senator Barack Obama's efforts to clear his good name by making up even more ridiculous bullshit.

Barack Obama has a pointy pelvis and fucking him is really uncomfortable.
LL Cool Jew noted that this isn't necessarily a smear, because it's "probz true." I can assert that it is, because for whatever reason, tall, skinny guys usually have huge dicks and I've fucked a lot of them. However, that impressive weiner comes with a price: namely, afterward you feel like someone drilled holes into your hip sockets. Obama's got that going on for sure.

Barack Obama got vocal cord implants which is why he sounds like a motivational speaker
Every time someone tells me that Barack Obama is so inspirational, I just roll my eyes because his voice drives me nuts. However, the Obamaniacs think that he's the Pied Piper of Stump Speeches, so something's going on there. With the way he used to smoke like an Industrial Revolution-era textile mill, his real voice probably sounds like psychic Sylvia Browne from "The Montel Williams Show." In fact, check out Sylvia predicting political and economic happenings in 2007...I wonder if she actually IS Barack Obama in disguise without his vocal modifiers and with a bitchin' set of gel tips:


Michelle Obama loves white people...on the side
As long as it's cool for the GOP sleazemeisters to say that Michelle Obama gives speeches involving the term "whitey," we might as well just go the extra mile and say that she's fucking white people as well as disparaging them. Note the come-hither look she's throwing at Stephen Colbert. They're totally doing it.

A video exists of Michelle Obama having sex with Ray-J

LL Cool Jew came up with this one, as although she isn't a "GOP sleazemeister," she's even worse: an embittered Hillary supporter! After hearing T-Pain admit that "the man is swangin'" with regard to Ray-J's equipment, Michelle Obama answered affirmatively to his "Sexy Can I?" query. Ray-J likes those old cougars, anyway. Frankly, Michelle Obama is an upgrade from his previous MILF Whitney Houston. It's only a matter of time before Vivid releases "Michelle Obama Superstar" to the internets.

There is a tape of Barack Obama asking anyone if they'll run to the deli and grab him a sandwich. The deli happens to be halal.

Duh, Obama is MUSLIM! Okay, maybe he's a fake-me-out Muslim, sort of like Ice Cube getting excited for his mama cooking the breakfast with no hog but otherwise observing no Islamic customs, but I think we all know what it means to eat at a halal deli...it means you're Muslim! And we all know that means "terrorist"! Oh crap, I ate an egg-and-cheese sandwich from my neighborhood halal deli the other day...fuck. Nevermind.

Barack Obama fucked Gina Gershon.

And who wants a President content with Bill Clinton's sloppy seconds? NOT ME, even if Gina Gershon is the greatest portrayer of lipstick lesbians in Hollywood history and star of two of Smith College's favorite movies ever, Bound and Showgirls. Speaking of Showgirls, I bet Nomy was way hotter in the sack than Barack.

Barack Obama spends a lot of time playing "one-on-one" with his assistant Reggie Love.

Thanks to that dude who wrote that expose about "the DL," everyone knows what "poker night" is all about these days, and it's not just a spirited game of Texas Hold 'Em. They play "stud" and it's got nothing to do with cards. Since that's out now, the new down low lingo is "one on one." As in, one on one, I want to play that game tonight in the Daryl Hall/John Oates context. Translation: SODOMY!

Barack Obama claims his pets as dependents on his tax returns, which he won't release.

I don't even know if Barack Obama has pets, and supposedly he HAS released his tax returns, but trust that most of the folks reading the works of "proven GOP sleazemeisters" don't know that! And like they're going to read his tax returns anyway, except possibly to perpetrate some of the dumbest identity theft schemes in the history of crime.

Barack Obama hates baseball, Bruce Springsteen, domestic lagers, and apple pie

Hey, if you'll believe that he agrees with his minister that AIDS and crack are government conspiracies and the traditional African outfit his grandfather gave him is evidence of his extreme Black Panther-style radicalism, you'll believe anything!

Barack Obama loves belly dancing, Moroccan food, and reruns of "Sleeper Cell"

If you see this in someone's DVD collection, I think it's safe to go ahead and call "terrorist." In fact, if it weren't for my love of "Weeds" and "Dexter," I'd boycott Showtime altogether. Well, by "boycott" I mean I'd quit illegally downloading their shows, but same difference. Those "Sleeper Cell" terrorists are kind of hot, though. I think that guy on the right was in Resident Evil: Apocalypse, and I'd close my eyes, pretend he's American instead of an Islamist evildoer, and hit that hard. Oh, wait, he's Israeli in real life? Well, hell, that's still as un-American as BARACK HUSSEIN OSAMA!

When Barack Obama saw Rachael Ray wearing Yasser Arafat's keffiyeh on TV, he went out and bought a shit-ton of Dunkin Donuts

Someone told me that after this commercial aired, Obama maxed out his credit card at Urban Outfitters buying keffiyehs for his entire staff because Rachael Ray's freedom-hating was so inspiring to him. He also started tossing around the idea of providing a lifetime supply of Munchkins for anyone who votes for his terror ticket. I'm glad his staff talked him down from that, because I might forsake John McCain if offered enough complimentary Dunkin Donuts swag. Their iced coffee is the chronic, even if it's the choice beverage of freedom-haters everywhere.

Malia Obama will only play with Muslim Barbies

Not only does she play with Muslim Barbies, I bet she doesn't make all her Barbies lesbians like mine were (owing to a shortage of Ken dolls more than my latent girl-on-girl desires but ANYWAY...that's another story).

Barack Obama got the "Ba" added to his first name to make something hot-sounding like "Rack" sound more lame and terroristy, because those JIHADISTS HATE BOOBS AND WOMEN
He totally identified with Alfred Molina's wife-beating Iranian gynecologist from that movie, too. You know he did.

And speaking of misogyny, Barack Obama tried to get Reading Lolita in Tehran banned from public libraries because he thinks Iran rules.
LL Cool Jew told me that he hates on The Kite Runner something serious, too.

In keeping with his Persophilia, Barack Obama reads Ahmadinejad's blog every day and believes the Holocaust is a myth. Moreover, he wants to reopen Buchenwald in Boca Raton, Florida.

I can't really fault him for the Ahmadinejad's blog-reading, because that shit is hilarious. However, the whole Holocaust myth business is pretty shady, as is that business about wanting to reopen concentration camps in the U.S. of A. LL Cool Jew told me that, and she's my resident Druish expert, so it's got to be one of the gravest true lies I'm advocating here. From there, it's just a short intellectual leap to OBAMA IS A NAZI! Yes, a terrorist Muslim Nazi! TRUST.

Barack Obama only ran for the U.S. Senate AFTER he was rejected by Hamas for suicide bombing detail.

That's Obama in militant suicide bomber drag at his audition. He decided not to go the pretend woman route once he embarked on his career in U.S. politics, because all the people who will believe the bullshit I'm writing here now hate so hard on the gays. It was a wise move.

Barack Obama is actually the urinating man known only by the moniker "daddy" from the infamous sex tape that was the impetus for R. Kelly's child porn trial


I and the R. Kelly defense team told you that, per the now-infamous "Shaggy Defense," it wasn't Kells. You caught him on the counter? It wasn't Kells. You saw him bangin' on the sofa? It wasn't Kells. He even hit it in the shower? It wasn't Kells...it was BARACK OBAMA! Case closed!

This is fun and I could continue this all day, but I have to get to lab. Luckily, there's enough dumbasses out there to ensure that my new totally made-up charges will be discussed on cable news for the next week. I can just see the pundits on FOX News now, discussing how "a blogger charges that Obama may be the man in the R. Kelly sex tape" or "questions have come up on the blogosphere about Michelle Obama's possible adulterous leanings" or whatever. God bless the stupidity of the average American, because I'm going to be swimming in traffic and laughing all the way to the damn bank. I hope for change in my pocketses, and that's exactly what Barack Obama is going to give to me. Thank you, Senator Obama!

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# posted by Razzy @ 6:05 AM 8 Comments Links to this post
 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Lil' Wayne


Name: Dwayne Michael Carter, Jr.

DOB: September 27, 1982

Occupation: the hottest rapper in the game

Hometown: Hollygrove, New Orleans, Louisiana

Current residence: When not in jail, New Orleans, Louisiana

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness:  I used to be very anti-Lil' Wayne, primarily because I was a Juvenile loyalist.  LL Cool Jew was always trying to bump some Lil' Wayne and I'd bitch that Weezy wasn't all that.  Besides, I was distracted by his latently homoerotic adventures (like makeout seshes with his adopted father Birdman, inherently gay XXL magazine covers, and leaked alternate album covers featuring his drag cosmetic skills).  Not that I have a problem with Lil' Wayne possibly being gay, but I got so caught up speculating about this that I didn't pay as much attention as I should have to facts that Lil' Wayne himself has pointed out, for example, "I'm a god, and this is what I bless em with."

Well, over the past year, Lil' Wayne has really grown on me musically.  LL Cool Jew and I were discussing this a while back, and I have to give her partial credit for bringing me around.
LL Cool Jew: "I don't do too many [drugs]. I just smoke weed and drink. But I'll never fuck with no more coke. It's not about the bad high; it's just about the acne: Cocaine makes your face break out. I'm a pretty boy."
LL Cool Jew:- Lil' Wayne tells New York magazine
Razzy: LOL
Razzy: quote of the day
LL Cool Jew: awesome
Razzy: i love lil wayne
Razzy: i'm oddly obsessed with him
Razzy: there's something really hilarious about him
LL Cool Jew: dude welcome to the club!
LL Cool Jew: member when you always used to hate on him
LL Cool Jew: i know you made the change yourself
Razzy: yes i did!
LL Cool Jew: but i have to take a tiny tiny tiny bit of credit
LL Cool Jew: i must
Razzy: of course
LL Cool Jew: i think perhaps my newly nolified lifestyle helped
Razzy: after hilarious mug shot after mug shot, i caved
LL Cool Jew: i'm pretty excited about it
Razzy: well i was always on "team juve"
LL Cool Jew: all that matters is that we are once again on the same team
LL Cool Jew: i love juve too
Razzy: in terms of my post-ca$h money allegiances
LL Cool Jew: shout out to the old cash money members
Razzy: but now i can't be bothered with their beef
Razzy: i love them both
LL Cool Jew: after all.
LL Cool Jew: it's irresistible!
Razzy: and i love how birdman makes that "cawing" sound in addition to his signature "brrrrr"!
LL Cool Jew: caw CAW
LL Cool Jew: it's sort of a rip on afroman's signature "ba-GOCK"
Razzy: totally
Razzy: but it's more the sound that a gull circling around would make
Razzy: as opposed to a cock strutting around the barnyard
When I was in New Orleans visiting LL Cool Jew last week, the "Lollipop" remix was constantly on the radio.  In a testament to how awesome this song is, I didn't even detect the presence of the detestable Kanye West singing the first verse (thank you, "rapper ternt sanga" T-Pain, for making auto-tuner effects requisite in all contemporary rap music), and once I discovered that this is who is Lil' Weezy's collaborator, I am not even put off as I typically am by anything involving Kanye West.  Even Kanye West can't ruin lines like "if that woman wanna cut, then call me Mr. Ointment" and "better wear a latex, because you don't want that late text, that 'I think I'm late' text."  I only even barely rolled my eyes when Lil' Wayne proclaimed "no homo" at the beginning of the song.  I made it my first order of business upon returning to New York to download the freshly dropped Tha Carter Vol. III and jam to it whenever possible.

Although I don't necessarily agree with Lil' Wayne that "he's so sweet" it will compel me to "lick the rapper," I have to cease and desist with any residual Lil' Wayne hating because Tha Carter Vol. III is the fucking shit and a half and I've seen the error of my ways.  Lil' Wayne is hysterically funny and I advise you all to go make an appointment with Mr. I Can't Make an Appointment and illegally download it immediately.  Just to demonstrate the awesomeness you can expect from a typical Tha Carter Vol. III jam, here is Lil' Wayne's collabo with none other than my second-favorite R&B thug in the world, the equally hilarious Faheem "T-Pain" Najm, singing something about getting money, showing it off to those hanging over the VIP line, and needing a Winn-Dixie grocery bag full of it.

I don't know why Lil' Wayne has girls' boyfriends' hating like a city cop, except for the fact that by own his admission, he "blow that shit, cause bitch, I'm the bomb like tick tick.  Yeah!"

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# posted by Razzy @ 4:50 AM 1 Comments Links to this post

Thursday, June 12, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Louisiana

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Name: Louisiana

DOB: 1803 (territory acquired), April 30, 1812 (state admitted to Union)

Occupation: weird awesomeness

Hometown: N/A

Current residence: check a map

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Unfortunately, my vacation in Louisiana went by entirely too quickly. While you all were undoubtedly on the verge of pulling a Plath and sticking your head in the oven to end the protracted suffering of Razzy withdrawal, I was not missing my daily routine of waking at the asscrack of dawn to write and then suffering for ten hours in lab one bit. It was nice to only check my e-mail every other day and spend all my time acting like a gluttonous pig. In fact, I accidentally thought my plane took off a half hour after it actually did, and this may have been a subconscious effort on my part to avoid returning to New York altogether. I’d way rather be on vacation with my BFF in the slow, sunny, sweaty south than going to stupid lab any day.

Anyway, I know all you dedicated Razzyphiles and Haters alike have been without a place to direct your respective adoration or ire, so, as unhappy as I am about my brief vacation being over, I’m pleased to make my glorious return to the internets. And I may as well start by gratuitously telling you about how awesome my trip was!

I already knew that the trip was going to be a serious departure from New York during my flight on Saturday afternoon. Everyone on the plane seemed to know each other judging by their constant chatting with each other. The people behind me were returning from a vacation to New York and were busy telling their seatmate, a stranger who just happened to know about 50 mutual friends, acquaintances, and cousins-by-marriage. They were busy exchanging stories about what they did during their trip, like which restaurants they went to and how many times they visited Ground Zero, which they referred to as “9-1-1” (not “nine-eleven” or “September 11th”, but “nine-one-one”, like the emergency hotline). After two and a half hours of listening to these chatty folks yammering about Tom Colicchio’s sandwich-making prowess and whether or not they liked Wicked or Phantom of the Opera more, I wasn’t entirely out of New York bitch mode and tolerant of the constantly jaw-flapping Southern attitude. I was ready for a damn drink.

I was delighted when LL Cool Jew picked me up and informed me that our first stop (after a quick drive-by of the ruins of the Magnolia Projects where Juvenile came up) was going to be some fancy old hotel bar for mint juleps. We subsequently met up with BigBagel for dinner at Cochon, this upscale place serving expensive versions of old Southern favorites. After a bottle of wine and big plates of pig ears, pork cheeks, salad with fried beef jerky, and frog legs, we went to change in preparation for the requisite tourist visit to the French Quarter. This also seemed like a natural first stop since, like me, this part of town is known for its exposed breasts.

First we had a few drinks and then met up with LL Cool Jew’s former colleague, who I’ll call Lil’ Darlin’, because that’s the name of the strip club she swore was the hip-hop club. After taking our seats and receiving a fistful of dollars each from BigBagel, we were ready to see some girls shaking their jelly to Lil’ Wayne songs. Much to our chagrin, as a new peeler took the stage, we heard the melancholy electronic opening notes to a RADIOHEAD song. “What the fuck?” LL Cool Jew and I both simultaneously said. Who strips to Radiohead? Strippers humping poles are supposed to be fun and sexy, not morose and whiny.

“This place is going downhill since the last time I was here,” said Lil’ Darlin’. “I guess they changed the format.”

“Where are the bitches writhing around to ‘Lollipop’?” demanded LL Cool Jew.

BigBagel was unable to answer because, in spite of the Radiohead or possibly because of it, he was in front of the stage slapping down ones and getting his nipples twisted by the stripper.

We stayed another ten minutes to see a few more bored-looking women shaking their cans to Linkin Park before we decided to venture out in search of hand grenades. Luckily upon getting back outside, some guys were standing on a balcony throwing beads.

“Go get some beads,” LL Cool Jew said.

While this is annoying and touristy, and I actually hate beads because when you’re a packrat with lousy housekeeping skills like myself they do nothing but contribute to clutter, I figured that I could not be on Bourbon Street and not participate in its most famous rite of clichéd debauchery. So I lifted my shirt for the bead-bearers’ benefit and walked away with a Mr. T-sized bundle of gaudy disposable neckwear. Unfortunately for all you guys, we forgot the camera for this part of the trip, but I brought some beads back to New York with me to recreate this scene from the comfort of my own apartment:

The next morning, LL Cool Jew and I got up early and headed to Cajun country for swamp tours and gluttony. We first went to Breaux Bridge, which is apparently a major center of crawfish acquisition and antiquing. I have no idea why, but Louisiana towns—no matter how rural—seem to have at least ten antique stores each. Despite aspersions people may cast about my age, LL Cool Jew and I have not quite reached that stage in life (ie: menopause) where we are remotely interested in things like puff painted collared town logo sweatshirts with crawfish on them or old spice jars and crap that we could decorate our houses with. We therefore opted for weight gain over antique hunting and gift shops.

I had never eaten crawfish pie before, and in fact did not know what it was. It turns out that it’s like a giant piece of baklava that is made with a shit-ton of etouffee instead of syrup. I think it was probably at least 5000 calories, and I gladly ate my way through three quarters of it before I finally had to surrender. Those Haters who love to tell me how disgustingly fat I am will surely enjoy pointing out that I probably gained at least ten pounds in four days on this trip, and that crawfish pie probably accounted for at least two.  Needless to say, it was awesome.  I think I could probably write ten pages (one for each pound) alone just rhapsodizing about all the shit I ate while I was there.

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After lunch, LL Cool Jew and I had a few hours to kill prior to our swamp tour, so we drove around through the countryside taking in the rural sites. We stopped at a Sonic for limeade and milkshakes just to make sure we really exceeded our lunchtime calorie intake by at least 300% and went for a drive. On our way to some old plantation house we were going to walk the grounds of, we found a completely improbable mural dedicated to the FDNY on a volunteer firehouse in the small town of Parks. LL Cool Jew insisted on taking my picture showing off my Sonic cup and acting the fool in front of it, right in time for a car of old ladies on their way from church drove by with a “Support our Troops” bumper sticker on the back of their giant Cadillac. I don’t think they liked me doing what probably could be construed as mocking the sacrifices of New York’s Bravest on what the people on my plane ride down indicated was locally known as “9-1-1”. They shot us looks of undeniable disapproval and hostility.  

"Dude," she said when she snapped the picture and they passed.  "Did you see that look those women gave us when they passed by?  There's nothing like the icy hate of a Southern lady.  It freezes, precious!"

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We decided that in spite of my plane ride down leading me to believe that "911" is a perennial favorite place for Louisianans to visit in New York, it's not cool to do tourist activities around their random murals dedicated to New York's Bravest in Louisiana.  We also decided that it would be a good idea to do something more officially touristy to ensure that none of the locals get pissed and give us directions to the House of Wax.

Therefore we went to Shadows-on-the-Teche, a plantation house with a big garden on a bayou.  We didn't have time to do the whole tour, but we at least got to walk around the grounds and take in the pretty flowers and the oddly juxtaposed pagan-and-Catholic sculpture collection. There were a bunch of obviously half-naked Olympian god-type figures decorating their tits in preparation for a presumptive impending bacchanal…beside some very pious-looking Catholic saints.
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“Hey Razzy,” said LL Cool Jew. “Name that saint for me.” She pointed at a particularly stern man with a long beard.

“Pretty sure that’s St. Peter. Simon Peter denied Jesus’s SOG (SOG=son of God) status three times to your messiah-killing, Barabbas-freeing mob of Druish agitators before the cock crowed but still managed to win appointment as the first pope. He’s like the OG Catholic, dude. The rock upon which Josh Christ built his church.”

“How can you tell?” asked LL Cool Jew.

“Well, he looks stern and humorless, and obviously too pious to shave. St. Peter was kind of wild before Jesus tapped him to be the original HBIC of the Cat-lickers, but once Jesus died and rose again he became a joyless old curmudgeon just like Benedixteen. He even insisted on being crucified UPSIDE DOWN once the Romans started getting their persecution on, because he didn’t think anyone should have the luxury of being crucified right-side up like JC. This guy’s demeanor looks and sounds about right.” Then I thought better of it and came clean about my ability to identify Catholic saints based on their unlabeled random statuary. “And the local parish church down the street is called St. Peter’s.”

We went down to the bayou to see if we could find any nutria, but didn't see any.  And speaking of nutria, it was time for our trip to the swamps for a tour.  I was sure we would see some.

Our guide was this guy named Walter "Butch" Guchereaux, who not only knew an insane amount about the history, flora, fauna, and current legal status of the swamp he showed us around, he had the world's greatest accent.   He was also very sweet and assured me that he would keep us a safe distance from any spiderwebs.
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I got right down to business and asked if we could go to wherever the nutria reside.

"Nutria? You're not gonna see any. If you can see da nutrias, da gators can see 'em too." Then he advised me that about ten years ago, you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a nutria. However, the nutria population started disappearing coincident with the proliferation of the local alligator population. I can see how that would be, because while we didn't see any nutria, we saw two gigantic fucking alligators.
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After about an hour of tooling around checking out birds and reptiles and listening to Butch's corny jokes ("What do you call da most lonedsome bayou? Bayou self") and his stories about how he built a self-sustaining duck blind out of toppled cypress trees ("I got my own ecosystem goin' here"), we headed to Lafayette to the hostel where we were staying. Initially when LL Cool Jew told me she booked us a room at a "hostel" for our night in Cajun country, I was extremely skeptical. "HOSTEL, dude? I don't stay in hostels." I reserve nothing but scorn and disdain for backpacker types, and the idea of sharing a communal shower with them is entirely reprehensible.

"Dude, we have a private room with a private bath. Do you think my JAP-tastic ass would stay in a backpacker-type place?" she said. I had to concede that point. If I'm adamant about my "no backpackers" policy, LL Cool Jew's unwillingness is probably greater by a logarithmic order of magnitude. However, we couldn't check in for another hour, so we went to get a cold beer at the artfaggy joint across the street, a bar appropriately called "Artmosphere."
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We were surprised to see such a hipster place in Lafayette, Louisiana (home of the UL Ragin' Cajuns), but we couldn't complain about the $3 beers, even if there were some vintage t-shirt-wearing tools smoking hookahs there.
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Then we went to dinner at Prejean's, this Cajun restaurant where we proceeded to consume our weight in fried seafood. LL Cool Jew wasn't kidding when she said their smoked duck and andouille gumbo was one of the most mind-blowing thing she'd ever eaten. We also ordered an oyster bake that was a little disappointing. When our (hot and obviously knowing it) waiter put it in front of us, the whole thing was covered with bechamel sauce and I made a crack about how I like to eat things that are splattered with hot white sauce, he just gave us our plate with a shifty look. LL Cool Jew ate one of the oysters Rockefeller, and I went for the other type of oyster.

"You have a weird look on your face," she observed.

"It's a weird oyster," I said. "The sauce is like...creamy tomato. It's odd."

LL Cool Jew tried one then. "Dude, with the tasso in it, it tastes like...I don't know...some kind of fake-me-out Italian food. It's like a piece of pizza or something."

"Pizza oysters!" I said. "It's like the Prejean's equivalent of a New York slice."

"Dude, pizza oysters made with fucking Prego," observed LL Cool Jew.
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Apart from the disappointing pizza oysters, we otherwise gorged ourselves on fried fish and shrimp, and jammed for a while to the weird Zydeco band of old men who took the stage with their accordions and fiddles.
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After we were about to burst open from overeating, we decided that instead of dessert we'd opt for some liquid to wash down our dinner. To avoid having to drive, we went back to the Artmosphere.

Within five minutes we met a bunch of dudes who invited us back to the hostel for some--ahem--herbal cigarettes. One of these guys, a good-natured recent traveler to Amsterdam, told a hilarious story about how he was in the Air Force right after the Iraq War started, he met Senator John McCain, who--according to him--wrote on his tent "Give 'em hell! Fuckin' Senator John McCain."
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"Dude, did he really write 'Fuckin' Senator John McCain?'" LL Cool Jew demanded. "Because that would be awesome." Unfortunately, the narrator had just added the "fuckin'" for emphasis.

We also met Fuckin' Senator John McCain's friends. First there was Carlos, a "documentary photographer" (translation: unemployed vagabond with a camera who gets laid more when he says he's a documentary photographer), who wouldn't stop marveling that "it's amazing to meet not one, but TWO women who have read a book."
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"We've both read more than one, too," I assured him. LL Cool Jew was rolling her eyes. We promised him a ride to New Orleans the next day but bailed two hours early so we didn't have to listen to him raving about what he considered an abnormal amount of female literacy. We did, however, reap the benefits of his photography skills:
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Rounding out our group of new friends was Brett, an aw-shucks type of fella who kept trying very, very unsuccessfully to hit on myself and LL Cool Jew by laying on the country bumpkin sweetness thick. He even went so far as to ask if I could take him inside and teach him how to use the internet because he's "not familiar with the technologies" (I declined). He looked like a cross between Tom Selleck and Matthew McConaughey, and it's fitting that he is seen here in front of a "Sugar Cane Loading Zone" sign:
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Then we went back to drink more at the Artmosphere, but were quickly lured away again by our new friends to their pal's "convenience store." John Pastore, proprietor of John's Quik Stop, welcomed us through a thick cloud of joint smoke to what is probably the world's most inconvenient convenience store. In addition to this place only being open between 3-7 pm, there appeared to be only one of each item he sold, and most of it was packaged foods and random trinkety crap manufactured by companies we'd never heard of. Check out his toy section:
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"I went to the dollar store and bought one of everything!" said John proudly of his inventory.

"Dude, maybe you should go someplace different," said Fuckin' Senator John McCain. "Would you eat this?" He held up a can of "sliced beef, gravy, and rice" that I swear was dog food packaged for human consumption.

"Hell naw!" exclaimed John. "But that don't mean somebody won't!" He was very confident in his business model.

As befits my taste, I immediately went to the most expensive item in the store: the $25 alligator heads. I didn't buy them, but I did try to French them a little bit:
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After another drink at the Artmosphere, LL Cool Jew and I passed out. She regaled me with the tale of how she got into it with this random Lebanese guy who joined our group at some point. LL Cool Jew had received a great deal of curious inquiries into her ethnicity from the locals. At one point, Brett asked her "Now what's y'all's extraction?"

"I'm Jewish," LL Cool Jew replied.

"Jewish! Well how about that? I thought y'all was a gypsy!" I'm glad she's not a gypsy, because "LL Cool Gypsy" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

LL Cool Jew had been fielding queries regarding her possible Judeo-Gypsy status all night, so it wasn't a big shock when this Lebanese guy wanted to know. Unfortunately, he reacted a little different than Brett's "I thought y'all was a gypsy" response. He was apparently telling her that halvah could be had at the Cedars Deli nearby.

"It is Jewish-style halvah, though," he said, grimacing. "You aren't Jewish, are you?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," said LL Cool Jew.

He scowled at her and said condescendingly, "My people have been enjoying halvah for two thousand years." LL Cool Jew said that it was apparent he was trying to pull out some "oh, SNAP, Jews!" moves and refused to be baited into saying something that would confirm her status as a Zionist pig to him. I thought she should have been like "Oh yeah? Well, my people have been enjoying halvah for 5,678 years!" or something like that, but she apparently just gave him a withering look and announced she was ready to retire to our quarters.

The next morning we got up, blazed out of the hostel before Carlos could meet us and tag along all day complimenting our intelligence, and got a breakfast at a place that exemplified exactly why there are so many fat people in Louisiana. Check out the guy behind LL Cool Jew:
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Then we proceeded to drive around for a bit. We were reminded that, in spite of places like the Artmosphere peddling hookahs and weird artwork, there were still plenty of people more in line with what I would expect...CLASSY:
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I totally am getting a sign like that for my dad to put on the back of his "rig," along with a pair of truck balls for his trailer hitch.

Then we got some beef jerky and went to the Tabasco factory on Avery Island. We saw more alligators there, along with more birds, and a shitload of bamboo. It was pretty but uneventful, and we proved two things I already know: that I hate Tabasco (I'm a Tapatio/Marie Sharp's kind of girl) and that LL Cool Jew can still flash a mean lesbian gang sign even though she's gone the breeder route in terms of life partner selection.
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Once we got back to New Orleans, it was again eating time. I think I nearly killed myself trying to lay waste to a soft-shelled crab po' boy. Then we went to LL Cool Jew and BigBagel's local pub for trivia night. They do this every Monday, and we were sure that between all of us, we would be able to lay waste to the competition. Unfortunately, that dream was shattered when LL Cool Jew earned the pub dunce cap by identifying the opening line of The Godfather as being from the film Yentl. The look on BigBagel's face in this picture says it all.
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We may not have won trivia night, but we did have a really fitting team name. We decided that, in keeping with 50% of the team's Smith College traditions, we'd go with Current Events in Lesbianism as inspiration, and called ourselves "the Lohan-Ronson Invitational Clambake." Even more fitting, I've realized that Lil' Darlin' and I actually look like Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson. It's unfortunate that I have to be the Samantha Ronson of the pair, but you can't win 'em all.
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And even more fitting than that is the fact that when we got back to Casa de Cool Jew-Bagel, Lil' Darlin' shared a bed with me and requested that she be permitted to "play with (my) boobs." Of course I gave my consent, and raised her an "as long as you're at it, you want to fuck?" Unfortunately, she has a boyfriend she's actually loyal to, so our imitation of LiLo and SamRo remained superficial. I did get my tits felt up, though, which ruled.

The last day of our trip was one of the most highly anticipated: our journey to Kentwood, Louisiana to see the Britney Jean Spears museum. Actually, the museum was called "The Kentwood Historical and Cultural Museum," but apart from a memorial to Kentwood's brave military people, it was all Britney.
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One of the greatest disappointments of my trip was the fact that no photos were allowed. I can't imagine why, because you would think that they could use the publicity. When I signed the guest book, I noted that we were the first visitors in 3 days. Hazel, the ancient woman whose threadbare coat identified her as the "curater" of the museum, didn't slack in attempting to give us a show. She led us into a dark room, then asked if we were "ready," and flipped a switch. There, before us, was a model of the stage from Britney's first tour that some dude in Oregon spent six months making.

"I was thinkin' his wife should get the credit for puttin' up with him fiddlin' with it for six months," said Hazel. LL Cool Jew gave me a look that plainly said, "Sha right, like the gay dude who made this has a wife."

Then we checked out the memorabilia collection. It was really impressive. They had Britney's "Best New Artist" American Music Award, her first MTV video music award (pre-Moonman), her Mickey Mouse Club jacket, and what looked like all of her platinum records. They also had a wall of Britney magazine covers, including a hilariously ironic one that said, "Britney Spears: Why I'm Waiting." Probably the weirdest, most disturbing thing was the hermetically sealed room containing all of Britney's childhood bedroom furniture and Madame Alexander dolls, with a picture in the foreground of Britney from the most Lolita-ed out Rolling Stone photo shoot of all time.

"That's like some gross old pedophile's fantasy jerk closet," LL Cool Jew whispered to me in a tone low enough not to be heard by Hazel as she tottered around.

We consented then to a tour of the military memorial, and listened to Hazel yammer on about how Taylor Horn, another local entertainer who already looks like a total whore at 15, was going to be a big star. It became apparent that the people of Kentwood are trying to divorce themselves from Britney, and even Hazel was probably hoping to replace the BJS section with a Taylor Horn section. We also noted that the "Welcome to Kentwood: Home of Britney Spears" sign that was supposed to greet us had been taken down ("that's cold" observed LL Cool Jew). It's pretty rich that the people of Kentwood think they're too good for even crazy, Frapp-slurping Brit Brit. Kentwood was probably one of the trashiest towns we went through. Half the buildings in town were abandoned and collapsing. The entire place seemed in a state of gradual decay. They didn't even have a Wal-Mart or a Winn-Dixie (although to our delight, they did have a Sonic).

After our tour, in the course of listening to Hazel ramble about Kentwood, its residents, and things we should do during our visit (in which she very amusingly told LL Cool Jew to "take your Yankee to Nyla's Burger Basket for some fried catfish"), we managed to get directions to Serenity, the Spears family "estate." LL Cool Jew and I immediately went there, and drove by several times trying to discreetly take a picture and hopefully see Jamie-Lynn's pregnant ass waddling around.
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Sadly, there were no Jamie-Lynn sightings, so we just grabbed more drinks from Sonic and headed back to New Orleans to watch some Lord of the Rings for old time's sake. LL Cool Jew and I watch LOTR movies when we have nothing better to do. It was a great way to end a vacation that was entirely too short.

I have to go back as soon as possible, because I didn't do nearly as many things as I wanted to do. Specifically, I didn't eat any nutria! I didn't even SEE any nutria. Every time we passed any type of swampy body of water, I was scanning eagerly for those little guys swimming around, but it turns out that they are pretty elusive for an invasive species. Obviously, I MUST at least see nutria at some point even if I can't eat them, so I'll have to go back.  

Oh, and PS...LL Cool Jew thanks all the readers requesting pictures of her tits, but her reply to your request is "NO WAY IN FUCKING HELL."

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# posted by Razzy @ 4:56 AM 5 Comments Links to this post

Saturday, June 07, 2008

 

All quiet on the Razzy front

Just a quick mention that I'm flying off to New Orleans today for a few days of gluttony, nerdiness, and boozing with my BFF LL Cool Jew, so please forgive what will probably be a little less blogging than usual.  I'm bringing my computer and plan to try to stay on my game, but LL Cool Jew has an itinerary of museum-visiting and swamp touring and nutria hunting and Britney Spears stalking planned, with lots of turtle soup and crawfish consumption in between.  Therefore, don't be surprised if I'm not Douchebagging people with my usual daily regularity.  If you're pissed about this, know that I'll make it up to you with lots and lots of titty pictures.  LL Cool Jew tells me that breast-baring is acceptable year round in the French Quarter, and not just during Mardi Gras.  Thus, I am confident I'll produce plenty of vacation photos that all you dear little pervs can beat it to.

XOBJBS,
Razzy 

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# posted by Razzy @ 7:45 AM 5 Comments Links to this post

Friday, June 06, 2008

 

A good omen on the nutria tip

I've refused to mitigate my determination to taste nutria, the semi-acquatic swamp rat that has invaded the bayous, on my trip to visit LL Cool Jew in New Orleans this weekend.  I've even contemplated tracking down the elderly Cajun trapper shown bludgeoning a nutria (nutrium?) to death with a stick prior to stewing it for Andrew Zimmern on "Bizarre Foods" in order to slake my nutria lust.  I even corresponded with Razzyphile who is a current Smith bitch and Jordan House resident about stalking the nutria in her Lafayette, Louisiana city park with a club and a stew pot.  Yesterday LL Cool Jew and I had a strategery session about how, short of actually going on a nutria hunt, we might get some through sheer guile.
LL Cool Jew: dude i don't think we will be able to eat any nutria
LL Cool Jew: i wonder if we'll even be able to see any?
LL Cool Jew:what we can try is this, even though it makes me somewhat embarrassed
LL Cool Jew: ask at the best stop near lafayette when we swing by for rgular jerky
Razzy: YES
Razzy: let's ask around
Razzy: we won't be offensive!
LL Cool Jew: we're going to have to work on our spiel
LL Cool Jew: maybe do some role playing on the drive over
Razzy: i'll say that i saw it on tv and it looked good
Razzy: nothing patronizing about that
LL Cool Jew: true
Razzy: i won't say i saw it on "bizarre foods"
LL Cool Jew: andrew zimmern can make lots of things look good
Razzy:: i'll just say it was "a food show"
LL Cool Jew: they will probably know which one
LL Cool Jew: it's OK, the show celebrates the foods
Razzy: well true
Razzy: i won't make it seem like i'm some city bitch looking to patronize the country folks
Razzy: by eating their swamp rats
LL Cool Jew: yes.
LL Cool Jew: we have to be shy and self-deprecating when we ask
LL Cool Jew: and precede it with a lot of hemming and hawing about "i know this is a strange question..."
LL Cool Jew: "i'm not sure whether you might be able to help me but..."
LL Cool Jew: don't want ppl to be like - "do i LOOK like someone who eats R.O.U.S.s?"
Well, it turns out we may not even have to go to the country for our Dorito-toothed rodent fix.  LL Cool Jew e-mailed me an article from today's Times-Picayune detailing a nutria problem severe enough to warrant a SWAT team that has exploded in the suburbs of New Orleans.
Nutria under the gun on the 17th Street Canal
Posted by Andrew Vanacore June 05, 2008 11:02PM
A Jefferson Parish SWAT team has been called in to defend the 17th Street Canal.

The threat? Nutria, the orange-toothed rodents that eat through marshlands and levees, among other offenses. Officials say their numbers around the canal have jumped in the last year and a half, damaging levees.
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"They've not only damaged the intake pipes but burrowed into holes along the canal," said Chief Bob Garner of the East Jefferson Levee District Police.

Inspections around the 17th Street Canal began turning up signs of nutria about a year and a half ago, said Danny Abadie, superintendent of operations for the East Jefferson Levee District Maintenance Department.

"We've seen a bunch of these critters out there," Abadie said. "They're eating at the base of the grasses," which can lead to soil erosion.

Over time, that erosion can add up. When Jefferson Parish officials first recognized the nutria epidemic in 1994, they estimated it had already caused $6 million to $8 million in damage.

Jefferson Parish SWAT teams have targeted the rodents along drainage canals for more than a decade.

Their ever-burgeoning numbers and destructive eating habits have left the nutria with few friends - even among animal rights groups.

Garner said he asked the Jefferson Parish Sheriff's Office to deploy the SWAT team as a favor.

SWAT members will stalk the rats with rifles in the wee hours, They plan to start as early as today. Garner said the operation could last weeks.

Still an open question is whether SWAT members will have jurisdiction to go after nutria on the Orleans Parish side of the canal.

Garner said East Jefferson officials have focused on the Jefferson side. But he couldn't say whether sharpshooters would hold their fire if they spot pests across the water.

"For the time being, we're only concerned with those that are on our side," Garner said. "If that problem arises, we'll deal with it."
I think this bodes well for our nutria-acquiring mission.  If there's an excess of freshly shot nutria laying around New Orleans, there's a chance that the fancy "country chic" restaurant LL Cool Jew is taking me to tomorrow night might have a nutria special on the menu!  As early as tomorrow we might be dining on nutria etouffee.  Score!

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# posted by Razzy @ 8:54 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Thursday, June 05, 2008

 

Dream OFF

You may recall an uncharacteristically girlish post I wrote a while back about a boy I liked, in which many Razzyphiles kindly provided lots of sound advice on how to deal with this situation.  Of course, I didn't take any of that advice, and chose to just ignore the guy and hope that this brief bout of feelings would pass like a head cold.  Frankly, I can't take a lot of that advice.  Many people suggested I invite him somewhere for a date, which I just can't bear to do.  Also, I was told to pretend I'm virtuous and not skanky, and not to sleep with him under any circumstances.  Well, that's impossible since he already knows I'm skanky because I slept with him once a long time ago and our friendship developed after.  Therefore, I just decided to get over it, because either he doesn't know how I feel or doesn't feel the same way, and I don't want to put myself out there in a most un-Razzified way, get shot down, feel like an idiot, and foment a permanent awkwardness between us.  I'm not going to wait around for him to make a move, and I'm not going to make one myself, so it's better that I occupy my time with more productive pursuits.  Besides, Morrissey'sHair gave me a stern Gchattig-to the other day, and it confirmed what I already knew: that this kind of bullshit is a waste of my time.
Razzy: i totally like this one guy
Razzy: but i'm so fucking idiotic about how to handle it
Razzy: i'm just pretending that he doesn't exist any more
Razzy: i suck at being coy and whatever the fuck girls are supposed to do to get a man
Razzy: for more than 1 night
Morrissey'sHair: you shouldn't be getting hung up on these dudes, Raz. They're not worth it
Razzy: i know
Razzy: i hardly ever do
Razzy: i just always pick the wrong guys
Morrissey'sHair: You, of all people, don' t need to date for the sake of dating
Razzy: well, i'm not dating for the sake of dating
Razzy: i really like this guy
Morrissey'sHair: being single is not the end of the world
Razzy: no, of course not
Razzy: duh
Morrissey'sHair: But I know that it feels lonely at times
Razzy: it does
Razzy: we have this incredibly ambiguous "friendship"
Razzy: (details omitted because they are too identifying and I would be mortified if this guy found out I was talking about him like this on my blog)
Morrissey'sHair: you don't need friends like that
Razzy: ugh i know
Razzy: he's SUCH a nerd too
Razzy: (more identifying details I'm omitting...I left the above nerd comment above there because it's an established fact that I have a big nerd fetish and I know many of them, so no big reveal there)
Morrissey'sHair: WTF? Kick this guy to the curb!
Morrissey'sHair: Who the fuck does he think he is?
Morrissey'sHair: You DO NOT need that in your life, Raz.
Anyway, in spite of LL Cool Jew saying that I shouldn't give up because this guy and I are perfect for each other, I'm more inclined to follow Morrissey'sHair's line of thinking.  However compatible this guy and I may be in theory, it's not happening in reality and until it does, I don't need this bullshit in my life on top of everything else causing unnecessary stress about decidedly lame junior high issues like whether or not somebody "likes" me.

Too bad just when I was getting the hang of not "liking" this dumb guy, I went and had an incredibly vivid sex dream about him.  In the dream we were swimming around at some beach resort-type place.  Yes, I know that dream swimming means something sexual, and even if I didn't, I would have been clued into the significance of water when we wound up having way, WAY hotter dream sex in the dream-beach crashing surf than any we've had in real life.  I won't go into the details, but it was one of those dreams where you wake up and actually expect to see the dream partner laying next to you naked and ready to go.  I don't know if I had this dream because a totally platonic instant message conversation I had with the subject yesterday reminded my subconscious that I was trying to forget about the fact that I am attracted to him against all my better judgment and I just wasn't tormented and confused ENOUGH by this situation.

Apparently, making the rational decision not to be a dumb girl hung up on who I like is not enough to actually accomplish that, since my subconscious betrays me in dreams.  I wish there was an "off" switch for this kind of thing so I can get back to focusing on how I'm going to score a player from the 'Nolia this weekend in New Orleans, and show my breasts to every tourist in the French Quarter, and eat my weight in crawfish, shrimp, andouille, turtles, and giant swamp rats, and generally be a Razzified force to be reckoned with.  At least if I can't turn it off, I can get so rip-roaring drunk that I don't dream at all, and have so many adventures that I forget all about this bullshit by the time I get back to New York.  Yeah...that's it.  Alcohol and educational tourist activities.  Lots and lots of alcohol and educational tourist activities.   

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# posted by Razzy @ 8:13 AM 1 Comments Links to this post

Friday, May 30, 2008

 

I TOLD YOU SO!

Proving once again that my Smith College education and occasional taste for tuna has honed my keen lesbadar to an admirable accuracy rate, the gossip internets this week are abuzz that Lindsay Lohan is going to take advantage of California's decision to legalize homo marriage and make it official with her special girlfriend Samantha Ronson.

I publicly called this one over a year ago when LL Cool Jew spotted Lindsay Lohan sporting the following hat, which might as well be a set of pride rings or a pink triangle in terms of its lesbian-revealing powers:
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I mean, if wearing a Smith College hat despite not having gone to Smith doesn't announce to the world that you're a clam digger, then I don't know what does.  It's not like LiLo is a big fan of Smith's rugby team (and if she is, that's even more of a giveaway that she's gone gayelle).  Girlfriend just wishes she could run around drawing giant chalk labias outside Neilson Library on Coming Out Day and boob-mashing hard to a Dar Williams CD with the androgynous BDOC (that's "big dyke on campus") set.  Go Pioneers!

Well, the celebrity gossip world has been all over Lindsay's lesbish ways the past week.  Apparently she was making out with Snatch-mantha Ronson on Diddy's yacht in Cannes, then showed up to a party wearing hers-and-hers rings on their wedding fingers and blabbed about her impending nuptials. This is after they've been reportedly doing all sorts of couple stuff, like walking around holding hands and spending Passover together at the Ronsons'.  Yesterday, the greatest and most reliable newspaper in the history of print journalism, the magnificent New York Post, not only reported that Lindsay and Sam are going to walk down the aisle at City Hall in California soon, but that it's going to help Lindsay's image by making her an icon embodying "lesbian chic."
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Alright, Lindsay!  I honestly can't think of a better way to rehabilitate Lindsay's image than by settling down and licking some twat.  And I'm pleased as a petted pussy about the fact that I called this OVER A YEAR AGO, long before it ended up on Page Six.  I'm going to send the happy couple a strap-on to celebrate their happy day when they actually make honest women of each other.  I'm sure they can find a use for it while honeymooning on an Olivia cruise. 

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# posted by Razzy @ 7:24 AM 3 Comments Links to this post

Thursday, May 29, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Sterling Fryou

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RAZZY Note: this is not actually Sterling Fryou, but some other random nutria trapper I found a picture of on the internets.  Despite his status as a local parish board member and world-famous bayou critter trapper, Sterling Fryou's handsome grizzled visage is nowhere on the internets I could find.  A shame!

Name: Sterling Fryou

DOB: ???-the late 1930s?  He's old.

Occupation: nutria trapper

Hometown: Morgan City, Louisiana

Current residence: Morgan City, Louisiana

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness:  LL Cool Jew and I have taken our nutria obsession to a whole new level: specifically, stalking elderly Cajun nutria trappers on the internets.  I swear that when I get down to Louisiana, we are going to eat nutria if we have to trap one ourselves. I even took out an ad on Lafayette, Louisiana's Craigslist searching for nutria jerky, and thus far have gotten no responses. I am getting very frustrated by this.
Razzy: btw, still no hits on craigslist re: the nutria query :(
LL Cool Jew: GUH
Razzy: who knew this shit was so hard to get?
Razzy: i thought there were nutria everywhere!
LL Cool Jew: well here's the thing
LL Cool Jew: i guess people trap and eat
LL Cool Jew: there's not like, a nutria processing plant or anything.
Razzy: the idea of us trapping one is hilarious
Razzy: i'm imagining us traipsing around the bayou
Razzy: you trying to walk in a pair of five-inch heels
Razzy: me freaking out about spiders
LL Cool Jew: no no
LL Cool Jew: i'll be in flip flops for shizzle
Razzy: i don't even know how to "trap" anything
Razzy: the only thing i know about it
Razzy: is that in wa state
Razzy: there are always voter initiatives to "ban cruel traps"
Razzy: i'm all for cruel traps if they lead to nutria consumption!
LL Cool Jew: well if you watch andrew zimmern tonight
LL Cool Jew: you will see that trapping nutria involves a pirogue and a baseball bat
Razzy: right
Razzy: we'd have no problem picking up a louisville slugger
Razzy: but i'm betting you don't have a pirogue at your disposal
LL Cool Jew: you'd be right about that
LL Cool Jew: they are fast and tricksy though
LL Cool Jew: maybe if we played them the bongo bong song...
LL Cool Jew was determined that I should watch the part of "Bizarre Foods" where Andrew Zimmern, big New York queen that he is, goes nutria trapping.  That night, she texted "nutria time!" to remind me that it was on right after "Deadliest Catch."  I flipped over to the Travel Channel to see Andrew Zimmern getting into a boat with an old Cajun named Sterling Fryou and heading off the nutria trapping grounds.  Sterling explains how you need to set nutria traps on the nutria game trails (identifiable because the nutria destroy all vegetation in their path), then hit them on the head with a large stick called "the eliminator."  Then Sterling gutted the nutria, brought it back to his trapping shack, and cooked it with some squirrel for Andrew Zimmern, who pronounced it "lean, and not swampy at all."
Razzy: Sterling fryou
Razzy: 2 bad u dont have a pirogue
LL Cool Jew: or an eliminator
LL Cool Jew: we need 2 contact sterling fryou
Razzy: Want nutria!
Razzy: Nutriatritious.  Bongo bong
LL Cool Jew: lean. not swampy
LL Cool Jew: hit im in th head
Razzy: Must contact fryou
LL Cool Jew: sterling is awsm. turduckens up next.
Razzy: Im goin 2 bed so i can b fresh 4 the sterling fryou hunt tomorrow
I didn't even need to conduct the Sterling Fryou hunt, since LL Cool Jew got on the internets and discovered that he is a eucharistic minister at St. Andrew's Catholic Church in Amelia, Louisiana.  She e-mailed me excitedly:
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
From: LL Cool Jew (llcooljew@dirrtydirrtyhumanitiesgrantgivers.org)

http://standrewcentral.org/ministers_schedule.html

The website of St. Andrews Parish Church in Amelia, Louisiana lists the following in its Eucharistic Ministers rotation:

Ministers
Lenwood & Lula Gaduet 631-2315
Joy Gaudet 631-2419
 Sterling Fryou 631-2792
Pooch Clements 631-2598
Carol Leger 631-2602
Gilday Gaudet 631-2419
Jeffery & Celeste Pennison 631-9325
Tracy Duval 631-2589
Trevor Benoit 631-0882
Kathy Acosta 631-0887
Teresa Theriot 631-9440
Dianne McAllister 631-2309
Peggy Clements 631-2271

Maybe if Sterling can't help us, Pooch Clements might be able to hook it up.
So now that we've tracked down Sterling Fryou's math, I think it's only a matter of time before I can persuade him to eliminate some nutria on our behalf and stew it for us Cajun-style in his outdoor cooking shack.  Or if he's too busy to do that, maybe he can just hook us up with some jerky.

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# posted by Razzy @ 7:48 AM 1 Comments Links to this post

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Beverly Hills Chihuahua

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Name: Beverly Hills Chihuahua

DOB: September 26, 2008

Occupation: 50% warrior, 50% lover, 100% chihuahua

Hometown: Walt Disney Studios

Current residence: during previews at a theater near you

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness:  Normally kids movies are something I avoid like the plague, since I hate both children and the cutesy storylines that appeal to them.  Furthermore, any movie with a talking animal (especially where said talking animal plays an integral role bastardizing the culture and history of a magnificent ancient civilization like the Aztecs) gets a big thumbs down in my book.  I also generally avoid movies starring dogs, because there's almost always at least one dog death, and I can't handle that emotionally.  I started crying during I Am Legend, and not just because it was a godawful time-squandering piece of trash, but because I just couldn't tolerate watching Will Smith strangle his sweet Caesar-y German Shepherd.  I can't even talk about Old Yeller, White Fang, or Where the Red Fern Grows without choking up, and you had better believe that I unplugged the damn TV within watching the first 10 minutes of Amores Perros.   In every respect, Beverly Hills Chihuahua seems like the kind of movie I would hate for myriad reasons, which is why I'm so shocked that I kind of want to see it.

Part of the reason for this may be due to the fact that when LL Cool Jew and I were roommates in 2005, I lived with her little long-haired Chihuahua, Dulcinea.  Although Dulcinea (aka "the D") is not without her challenges (in particular, frequent medical problems, a tendency to urinate uncontrollably when startled or terror-stricken, and a sneaky habit of furtively shitting on various furniture and/or carpets), she is a very, very sweet, funny little dog and I am extremely fond of her.  Obviously, LL Cool Jew is too, since she went and got ANOTHER long-haired wawa, Sergio, to keep the D company.  Even if you hate dogs, you can't say that these two aren't pretty fucking cute:

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LL Cool Jew told me that when she recently saw the trailer in the theater, she embarrassed her husband BigBagel because she actually started clapping delightedly.  While I don't think I'd get so excited as to burst into raucous applauding, I wouldn't be embarrassed by LL's enthusiasm.  If she's in New York when that shit drops, I'll go see Beverly Hills Chihuahua with her, even if it means sitting in a theater full of hateful children.  After watching the trailer, I'm convinced that this movie might not make me homicidally crazed.  In fact, in spite of the fact that it has none of the three elements I consider critical to a good movie (murder, explosions, people getting fucked), and many of the elements I consider terrible (possible dog death, musical numbers, shameless revisionist history) I think I might actually like it.

It's at least got to be more exciting than Beverly Hills CHONGAY, which would be approximately ninety minutes of this:
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# posted by Razzy @ 6:55 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

 

New Orleans is awesome

I'm excited for my upcoming trip to New Orleans for many reasons.  LL Cool Jew and I are going to nerd out on history, visit the Britney Spears museum, drive by the ruins of the Magnolia Projects where Terius "Juvenile" Grey came up, eat like pigs, and enjoy a few days being BFFs in person as opposed to over the phone and Gchat.  Now I have yet another reason to be excited.  Over the weekend, LL Cool Jew went to some mall to see the new Indiana Jones movie, and thought I would like the mall's policies:  
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THE MALL HAS A NO KIDS POLICY!   And a policy so serious that they have a huge sign announcing its rigorous enforcement.  That's fucking brilliant. I am in a state of deep swoon imagining the possibility of watching movies without annoying children making noise and generally bothering me.  I'm going to write to every movie theater in New York and encourage them to enact similar policies here.  It would make movies worth every penny of the $12 it costs to see them.

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# posted by Razzy @ 10:27 AM 2 Comments Links to this post

Friday, May 23, 2008

 

Boomers: The Wackest Generation

Like everyone else, I was saddened to learn this week of Sen. Ted Kennedy's cancer diagnosis. But I have a terrible confession. Inwardly, I experienced an undeniable, haughty jubilation. "That's right, Boomers," I thought. "Your era is coming to an end." Across the nation, aghast, stricken Boomers clumsily BlackBerry'd each other the news after retreating to the executive washroom to stare at themselves in the mirror and, perhaps for the very first time, contemplate their own mortality. Yes, Boomers – you never thought it possible while slinging mud at Woodstock or jumping the barricades at the 1968 Chicago Democratic Convention, but YOU TOO WILL DIE!
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As a Gen-Xer, of course I realize that my parents are Boomers, as are my beloved husband's beloved parents, as are Razzy's and etc. Duh, I don't want them to die! Individually, we love our Boomers – but as a demographic, THEY ARE SO ANNOYING! Here's why:

They refuse to admit they ARE The Establishment.
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Yeah, that's right. What, you think that what little remains of the enfeebled World War II generation is still running this bitch? No, the world is racing against the clock to collect their oral histories before the last few of them start pushing up daisies. Just because you aren't rocking humongous Watergate-hearings-style, black-rimmed Coke-bottle glasses and grumbling about "kids these days" doesn't mean you haven't yourselves become The Man. Nothing chaps my ass quite like a rich, powerful boomer airing out his liberal laundry and railing against "out-of-touch politicians in Washington" or "greedy corporate pigs." Know who those folks are, dude? They aren'ts your parents' generation, because face it -- they're either invalid or dead. THE ESTABLISHMENT IS YOU, BOOMERS. You.

They refuse to retire.
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Despite their visceral hatred for The Establishment, boomers demonstrate little to no interest in relinquishing their death grip on their cushy jobs bossing the rest of us around. Not only do they want to keep working past retirement age, those that do decide to hang it up are all too often followed by members of the seemingly endless boomer depth chart. They're like shark's teeth - there's always another waiting in the background to replace them. This leaves those of us 40 and under to wallow in the ranks of white-collar, low-to-mid-pay-grade servitude, waiting haplessly for the strapping boomers ahead of us to decide they'd like to take up wood-turning in lieu of work, since their sweet health insurance plans keep them strong as bulls. For the love of all things sacred, boomers, take your cue from Dennis Hopper already and RETIRE! Jump out of planes, ski the Swiss alps, take a hot-air balloon tour over wine country or whatever the hell else you think is awesome - God knows you can afford it!

They like to boast inappropriately and unimpressively about their crazy college days and "drug phase(s)."
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Gotta love a boomer who freaks out and stages an intervention when his college-aged children get busted for pot possession by Dartmouth campus police, then in the next breath breaks into a gasconade about their mind-blowing, Carlos Castaneda-inspired peyote odysseys on the Hopi Reservation back in '72. You know who's taken aback by your forays into the world of hallucinogens? Your parents. Guess what? They're dead. Everyone younger than you thinks those grainy YouTube vids of hippie boomers dancing horrifically while blasted out of their minds on weak LSD are totally f'ing pathetic. You could never do as many drugs as Lil' Wayne or the incredible walking crack ho Amy Winehouse. How are we supposed to even be fazed by your wack nuggets of fake-me-out druggie nostalgia? You sent us to private school, remember (how progressive of you!)? Thanks to the spoiled, rich friends we made there, we surpassed your level of drug experience by sophomore year and STILL got straight As. Do you hear us bragging about it??

They have propagated the taking-over of university buildings as a means of protest.
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Am I the only one who is already completely f'ing bored by the constant "this day in 1968" 40th-anniversary boomer nostalgia news stories that have become totally ubiquitous? My (least) favorite so far was presented recently by NPR "All Things Considered" host and uber-boomer Robert Siegel, and focused on the taking-over of several Columbia University buildings in order to protest the Vietnam War. In addition to being pissed about gym construction in a local park, "Members of the radical group Students for a Democratic Society opposed Columbia's ties to a think tank involved in weapons research for the Vietnam War," the story explained. "Mark Rudd, then-chairman of Columbia's SDS chapter, tied the two issues together, saying at the time that students would not attend a university that exploited black people and developed weapons to kill them and murder the Vietnamese. 'I see it as part of the enormous part of the anti-Vietnam War movement involving millions of people,' says Rudd, a retired math teacher who lived underground as a revolutionary for seven years. 'We stopped a war of aggression.'" DID YOU? FOR REALS? According to my feeble GenX memory, the Vietnam War ended in 1975, fully seven years after your slumber party at the dean's office. NICE WORK! Seems to me the war ended whenever the president f'ing felt like it. Now, forty years later, your big legacy on this front is that idiot college students will take over a building for any damn reason. How the hell is shutting down College Hall at Smith going to help Mumia Abu-Jamal in any form or fashion?

They are completely clueless about sex.
Much like their boastful prattling about drugs, boomers love to be "cool" about sex. Premarital sex, nonmonogamous sex, outdoor sex, oh my! Y'all were real sexual deviants. Problem is, since they can't be bothered to see past their own graying wangs, boomers have failed to keep pace with modern developments in sexual behavior and identity. This is best demonstrated by a trip to a boomer shrink, as Razzy recently discovered. It doesn't matter if the visit was prompted by your concerns with how much you drink or an unexpected death in the family - tell a boomer shrink you've dated a chick and the conversation cannot be re-railed. Since they are incapable of believing a queer person can be emotionally stable - that queerness can prompt anything but confusion, isolation, and/or self-hatred - you're forced to spend way too much of your expensive-ass 45 minutes convincing your all-knowing boomer shrink that no, you actually don't have any problem with your sexual orientation. "Impossible," the boomer shrink insists. "After all, I made vicious fun of fellow students I suspected were gay in high school and only recently realized it made me hip and with-it to have a couple of gay friends. And that 'Will & Grace' is so funny! But I digress...surely you've considered suicide at least three or four times. Queer people aren't HAPPY. You haven't considered suicide? Well...shouldn't you, now?" Yes, doc. Sitting in your office at this moment, it's true, I do in fact wish I were dead. Now write me a goddamn prescription.

They are the most offensive Obamamaniacs because they take personal credit for his candidacy.
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Boomers are at their worst when en route to the Obama rally. As a friend of mine sagely observed after a recent such gathering in Oregon, the crowds resembled a "glorious-dear-leader" third-world throng. Since the boomers in attendance couldn't be bothered to mingle with the hoi polloi, many of them chose to take in the message of Hope and Change from the comfort of their kayaks. From their coastal enclaves, liberal boomers are smiling and slowly nodding with self-satisfaction as they watch Obama's Hitler Jugend-style supporters flip the fuck out like they were at a Miley Cyrus concert. Not only are boomers convinced they are personally and individually responsible for the fact that a black guy is being taken seriously as a presidential candidate, they also think they can be rejuvenated by voting for Obama because their kids are into him. A couple of glasses of Prosecco into a recent dinner with a couple of my mom's lady boomer friends who were in town for Jazz Fest, one of them declared to me, "You young people are for him, all of you are behind him, it's so inspiring, who am I to stand in your way?"  

"I voted for Hillary in the primary," I deadpanned, precipitating an uncomfortable silence. That's right - even a boomer candidate is better than a boomer fad.

They're going to cost us the goddamn farm, y'all.
There are just so many of them, and they're going to live 10 or 20 years longer than our grandparents did. So while you're pumping your meager savings into your own 401k, convinced as we all are that it will not be augmented by payments from the Social Security fund into which we've been practically hemorrhaging tax dollars out of our paychecks, it's probably not a bad idea to set some of your nonexistant riches aside for the in-law apartment you're going to need next to your kids' rooms. Because - God love 'em - the boomers will be moving in before long, but not before they blow their entire savings on SUVs and NFL season tickets and Mediterranean cruises.

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# posted by LL Cool Jew @ 11:59 AM 2 Comments Links to this post
 

Daily Douchebag: placeholder

LL Cool Jew promised she'd have something good for today's douchebag, I'm just sticking this up for now to explain why there's no douchebag.

I'd write one myself and save LL's for Monday, but I don't feel like it, and frankly, I encourage all my contributors to write their own suggestions.  Yesterday Morrissey'sHair suggested Morrissey for Daily Dude, since it was his 49th birthday.  I don't think I could possibly say anything about Morrissey better than Morrissey'sHair, who is so obsessed that he actually goes to hang out with Morrissey fan clubs in various lame Seattle coffeehouses and has modeled his hairstyle after his idol, so I said, "How about YOU write it?"  That was answered with silence, as I assume Morrissey'sHair was busy rendering legal services to the financially fucked, so I wrote about nutria instead.  However, I still am leaving the door open for Morrissey'sHair to write about Morrissey or whatever else, and the same goes for my other contributors.

Ideally, all my contributors will churn something out daily, so there will be even less work for me and even more useless bullshit for your reading pleasure.  Since that won't happen until I gently prod/force my contributors to cough up posts to match their ideas and get them in the habit of doing so, this placeholder post is where the Daily Douchebag should be.  So get cracking finishing that post about how you hate baby boomers, LL Cool Jew!!! 

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# posted by Razzy @ 6:09 AM 0 Comments Links to this post
 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: nutria

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Name: Myocaster coypus

Aliases: nutria, coypus

DOB: entered fossil record during the Pliocene; introduced to Louisiana in 1930

Hometown: temperate South America

Current residence: various places in Europe, South America, Asia, Maryland, Louisiana, and the Columbia River basin

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness:  When I made plans to go visit my friend LL Cool Jew in New Orleans next month, she was regaling me with tales of the turtle soup we're going to eat, and the swamp tours we're taking, and the plantations we're going to, and somehow the topic of nutria came up.

"What's nutria, precious, eh?"  I asked her.

She advised me that nutria is a type of beaver-sized swamp rat with big orange teeth that was imported to Louisiana from South America as an inexpensive food source for the cajuns of the bayou.  Unfortunately, nutria never really caught on as a dinner meat except for a few places in Louisiana where some rural folks hunt it.  It's greatest success at being incorporated into the mainstream Louisiana diet is probably its use as a beef substitute on sloppy joe day in the Louisiana public school system.  I'm not sure if that's on the statewide elementary school lunch menu, but (LA native) Motherbucker told me it was a favorite in Alexandria where she came up.  I guess the nutria population in southwest Washington state isn't as prolific, because I never heard of nutria being served to anyone.  In fact, I hadn't even heard of nutria at all.  Even more unfortunately, nutria have proven to be a wetland-destroying menace thanks to their burrowing and ravenous appetites for vegetation.

To battle the nutria problem, the people of Louisiana have tried all sorts of things.  Currently the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries offers a bounty on nutria, and is also strongly pushing nutria as the meat of the future.  Their website shares recipes for dishes like "heart healthy crock pot nutria," smoked nutria and andouille sausage gumbo, Enola's smothered nutria, and stuffed nutria hindquarters.  After hearing about all this, I became extremely curious about trying nutria.

The last time I was home in the P-N-Dub, I was hanging out with my buddy HotLawyer and switching back and forth between the Mariners game and various food and travel shows.  After I told HotLawyer what kind of dick vibes all the Mariners and the entire Oakland bullpen were sporting and speculated on which food show hosts were big sluts (Giada de Laurentiis being Queen Skank of Slag Mountain), we settled on watching the Gulf Coast episode of "Bizarre Foods."  Unfortunately we switched back to baseball during the nutria-eating part, but just seeing the fat homo who hosts that show eating bear, possum, and chitlins, I became even more dead-set on popping my nutria-eating cherry.

Upon realizing my strong interest in nutria, LL Cool Jew has taken it upon herself to fill me in on any and all nutria information she comes across.  She just finished taking a class about Louisiana history (since she works for some Louisiana historical society or something), and there was some discussion of nutria.  However, it became apparent that, in terms of nutria being an accepted part of Louisiana culture, it's got a way to go.  You can't just walk into any restaurant and order some nutria jambalaya; if you want nutria, you have to get out and trap it yourself.  Since the idea of LL Cool Jew and myself traipsing around the bayou trying to set nutria-catching snares is nothing short of hilarious, we have been trying in vain trying to get a nutria hook-up.  It seems our best bet will be to find someone who makes nutria jerky and beg them for some.  I'm already having fantasies of eating nutria jerky on our way to tour the Britney Spears museum, and I was hoping that LL Cool Jew's Louisiana class would prove a boon to our nutria-acquiring efforts.
Razzy: oh congrats on getting an A in your herstory klass
LL Cool Jew: :D :D :D
Razzy: like you would have gotten anything less
LL Cool Jew: WOOHOO
Razzy: i'm sure it was your presentation about the jewish rice tycoon that secured your top grade
LL Cool Jew: :D
LL Cool Jew: you better believe it
Razzy: the only thing that concerns me
Razzy: is that maybe you didn't work the louisiana history community hard enough for nutria jerky connections
LL Cool Jew: all those people were from the Greatner NO area
LL Cool Jew: they aint got no nutria connex
Razzy: we gots to find some of those
Razzy: i've become almost pathologically obsessed with the idea of consuming nutria
So if any of you know somewhere we can get some pre-trapped and killed (and preferably jerkified) nutria, holler at your girl.  In the meantime, here is the greatest nutria video on YouTube.  I think the music of Manu Chao was made to be the soundtrack for videos of nutria being nutria, or as LL Cool Jew put it, "it's an awesome nutria jam."      

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# posted by Razzy @ 5:05 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Thursday, May 22, 2008

 

My confession

I haven't received the sacrament of reconciliation in sixteen years.  The grade school I went to forced us to confess prior to Christmas and Easter.  Even the few non-Catholics had to go in and talk to the priest even if they couldn't write off their misdeeds with a few Hail Marys.  Unfortunately, I hadn't really done any major sinning at that point so it was kind of an exercise in futility.  I figured that merciful Christ would not damn me to the fires of Hell for fighting with my little brother or whatever small-time child's play sinning I repented.  In high school, we had the option of going to either study hall or confession during Advent and Lent, and I only exercised the confession option once during my freshman year.  After that I got on my unfortunate radical feminist jag, and rejected Catholicism for being too patriarchal.  Well, and because there's no better way to perpetrate some rebellious teen angst than declaring oneself an atheist carpet muncher at your Jesuit high school.  Anyway, the last time I went to confession was when I was thirteen my first semester of high school.  I don't remember the sins I sought absolution for.  After that, I opted for study hall and I have ever since.

Fast-forward to the present day, and I could assuredly benefit from some quality time with a priest in a confessional.  I have done a hell of a lot of sinning since the last time I got my "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned" on.  You could rephrase this to say that I've done a hell of a lot of premarital, extramarital, same sex, and/or group fucking since I was thirteen.  The problem with me confessing these sins is that I'm not particularly sorry about most of them.  Here and there, I regret times I've used sex to hurt people, or when I've handled sex so cavalierly and insensitively with someone that it fucked up my relationship with that person.  However, I don't regret the fact that I stuck my face in a girl's crotch at fifteen and jumped on a dick at sixteen and have been doing that with gusto ever since.

There is, one thing, that I feel very, very bad about.  I regret it deeply, and I feel that it is the greatest sin I've ever committed.  I've alluded to it in the past, and tried to make light of it, but it is something that haunts me every day of my life.  I need to confess it, but I'm still too much of a coward to hear what a priest might tell me.  I think I'm afraid of being forgiven for it, because I don't know if I can ever let it go.  Certainly a couple trips around the rosary will be insufficient penance.  Since I'm too cowardly to seek the sacrament of reconciliation, I figure maybe I should confess this to the rest of the world.  If I can give this up to the internets, maybe I'll be able to give this up to a man of the cloth and save my immortal soul from eternal damnation.  Therefore, without further ado or pitiful showcases of my Catholic guilt, I'll just get on with the confessing.

In January 2004, after a Christmas vacation spent catching up with my stable of honeys in the P-N-Dub, I returned to New York.  I noticed that my New Year's hangover never really quite went away in the sense that I began to experience nausea that became almost constant.  At first, I attributed this to a stomach bug, since I am religious about taking my birth control pills on time and have been since the age of 16.  When my monthly visitor did not arrive, however, I started to get a really bad feeling about the malady causing this.  One night, my friend Miss Corbutt was hanging out at my apartment, and after a few drinks I finally articulated my secret fears to her.

"Dude, I think I might be pregnant."

"WHAT?!"  she said. 

"Well, I missed my period, and I'm throwing up all the time.  I bought a pregnancy test, but I'm afraid to take it."

"It's going to be okay.  Take the test first thing in the morning.  I'll be here with you.  In the meantime, have another beer."

So we drank and then went to bed, and then the next morning I braced myself.  I knew I was pregnant.  I didn't have to take the test to know it.  Something was different with my body, and I could feel it.  But even though I knew, I said a prayer that the test would prove this was all in my head.  So I pissed on it and tried to hope that my instincts were wrong.

My instincts weren't wrong.  I was indeed knocked up.  I sat there, not knowing what to do.  Miss Corbutt didn't ask what I was planning to do, or give me any advice.  She just rubbed my back and told me everything was going to be okay.  I told her that I just needed to think.  She left me alone to do so.

I didn't really need to think.  I knew what I had to do.  The situation pretty much dictated what had to happen.  I was in my first year of graduate school.  I had classes and lab rotations.  I didn't have time to become a single mother.  I'd have to drop out of Columbia and probably move back to Puyallup.  I'd become the unremarkable, economically and intellectually static woman I'd been working my whole life not to be.  Add to it that on account of my brazen sluttiness, there were THREE candidates for Baby Daddy.  I'm pretty sure I know which one it was, since Bachelor #1 had a serious case of whiskey dick, Bachelor #2 wore a condom and came down with prophylactic-induced erectile dysfunction, and Bachelor #3 gave me at least four cream pies.  While I'd bet on Bachelor #3, I didn't really like the idea of involving him (especially since he was living with another woman) only to have the baby's paternity disproven upon its appearance.  It would be pretty easy to tell whose kid it was once it came out, since Bachelor #1 was Arab, Bachelor #2 was white, and Bachelor #3 was black.  It would be just my luck to have Bachelor #3 coaching me through delivery only to pop out a blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby.  The only thing that could make that worse is Maury Povich popping in to declare, "Bachelor #3, you are NOT the father."  Needless to say, I didn't feel I had any choice about what to do.  I just couldn't bring myself to put the wheels in motion.

I called LL Cool Jew, who lived in Washington, DC at the time.  She is steady and manages to combine practical here's-what-we-do actions with lots of compassion.  Sometimes you need someone to tell you what to do and make the arrangements for you.  I had done the same for her with regard to a bad breakup the year before, so I figured she would be able to do the same for me.  I figured correctly.

"Hey, gurrrrrlllll," said LL Cool Jew.

"Dude, I'm pregnant," I said.  

LL Cool Jew was quiet for a moment as she assumed a situation-appropriate sobriety.  "Are you sure?"

"Tottlez, dude.  I just took a test.  What do I do?"

"Can you come down to DC in the next couple weekends?"

"Can I bring Caesar?" I asked.

"Duh."  

"Yeah, sure."

"Let me call you right back," she said, getting off the phone.  Five minutes later she called back.

"So, rent a car for weekend after next," she said.  "I made an appointment for you."

"Great.  I can't wait to see your and Wmania's new apartment," I said.  I didn't know what else to say. 

That was it.  That was how I decided to have an abortion.  I asked my friend to do it for me and acted like it was an excuse to check out LL Cool Jew and Wmania's new digs.  

For the next week and a half, my morning sickness grew steadily worse.  In fact, I'm not sure why it's even called "morning sickness" since I was afflicted with it at all hours of the day.  I got in the habit of carrying a bottle of Pepto-Bismol with me everywhere I went.  Some of my classmates at Columbia eventually began to inquire about my health.  I told them I had a lingering case of stomach flu.  One of my classmates eventually suggested that I see a doctor, since it wasn't right for such an ailment to persist, as we got into an elevator following another riveting Cell Membranes and Organelles class.  "It's actually not a stomach flu," I said.  "I'm pregnant."

There was a collective gasp from the elevator full of first-year grad students.  I guess this is the kind of information you're supposed to hide and be ashamed of, but I have an almost compulsive need to be honest about myself.  If I have no skeletons in my closet, nobody can ever hold anything over my head.  Besides, I am an absolutely terrible liar.  So I just came out with the truth.  Then I felt sorry for shocking everyone else, so I comforted them.  "Don't worry, I'm getting it taken care of next weekend."  Everybody was still shocked, so I just tried to act as nonchalant and emotionally uninvolved as possible, like I'd just informed everyone I was going to the dermatologist to get a mole lasered off.

The time came, and I rented a car and loaded Caesar into it (this was pre-Chingy!), and drove to our nation's capital.  LL Cool Jew, Wmania, and I drank wine and watched trash TV and made jokes about getting up early to be at the abortion clinic.  

The next morning Wmania drove me to the clinic for my appointment at 8.  It was in a suburban part of Maryland, in an unmarked, unassuming office building.  "There's no sign," I observed.  "Yeah, probably to keep the bombers away," said Wmania.

"That's comforting," I said.  The waiting room was largely empty when I checked in.  

"I'm here for an appointment to terminate my pregnancy," I said quietly, in the same tone of voice I'd use at a library or a funeral.  I figured this was a somber occasion.

"Medical or surgical abortion?"  said the receptionist loudly.  My somber occasion was just another day at the office for her.

"Uhhh...what's the RU486 one?  Medical, I guess," I said.  The receptionist handed me some forms to fill out and said mechanically, "The purple form explains everything."

The purple form basically told me how the whole schtick was going to go down.  They'd confirm my pregnancy, give me a shot of methotrexate in the ass to terminate my pregnancy, and after a week, I'd shove some misepristone pills in my cooch to induce a miscarriage of my dead fetus. 

The waiting room started to fill up, and I waited and waited.  Because the demand for the clinic's services apparently greatly exceeded its capacity to supply, they showed movies to help pass the time waiting.  You might think that they'd show cheerful, lighthearted fare to lift the undoubtedly gloomy spirits of your average abortion clinic waiting room denizen, but you would be wrong.  That morning they were showing Narc, an extremely violent movie about police corruption, drug dealing, torture, and murder.  After a particularly lovely scene in which a dude blows his head off while taking a bong hit out of a loaded shotgun, Wmania said, "What the FUCK are we watching?  Whoever put this movie in for this crowd was obviously smoking CRACK COCAINE."  Whenever someone does something Wmania disapproves of, she always attributes it to the recent use of "crack cocaine."

Finally, they called me in.  They wouldn't let Wmania come with me.  I paid and made a lame joke about how, since I got airmiles for purchases made using my credit card, I should have abortions more often.  The woman taking my payment did not laugh.  Instead, she told me that I'd have to return afterward for a follow-up, and wanted to book the appointment then.

"How is February 14th?"  she asked.

"Fine," I said.  "It's going to be the most romantic Valentine's Day ever," I added.  The woman again did not laugh.  She sent me to a room for an ultrasound and then I had to piss in a cup for a pregnancy test.  It took me an hour to produce a goddamn drop of urine.  I attributed my urinary dysfunction to my constant vomiting.  Finally, after I managed to piss, I was ushered into the gynecologist's examination room.

The doctor performed a pelvic exam on me.  I remembered that she had the knobbiest knuckles I'd ever felt in my vagina.  She brusquely advised me that I'd signed a form which legally obligated me to follow through with the abortion once I'd received my methotrexate, because otherwise I'd give birth to a deformed monster.  I advised her that I was aware of that, and dropped a little science about methotrexate blocking proliferation of rapidly dividing cells by inhibiting dihydrofolate reductase.  I told her she'd have to give me the methotrexate as an injection rather than a syrup, because I couldn't even keep water down.  She told me to roll over and gave me a shot in the ass.  Then she gave me a little packet of pills and told me to shove them up my vagina before bed in a week.  She also gave me a prescription for Vicodin.  

"Will I need this?  Isn't this just going to be like a heavy period?"  I asked.

"You might have some cramping," she said.  "Just fill the prescription."  Then, her clinical manner subsided and she squeezed my hand and shot me a kind, sympathetic expression.  Even though her knuckles felt like ping pong balls, it was very comforting.  "Make this as painless as possible for yourself," she said. "And avoid folic acid, it interferes with the methotrexate.  But you already know that."

I left and Wmania escorted me out.  I threw up in the parking lot.  Wmania was very alarmed.  "Holy shit, Razzy, pregnancy is like a disease to you!"  When we got back to their apartment, I pointed out that the brochure the clinic gave me listed their phone number as 1-800-ABORTION.  "Dude, I can't believe you fixed me up with this place by calling 1-800-ABORTION!"  I said to LL Cool Jew.

"I did NOT call 1-800-ABORTION!  They were the first clinic listed in the phone book, and it was a (202) number!"

"Whatever, you probably finished ordering new lenses from 1-800-CONTACTS and then figured you'd do the same for me by dialing 1-800-ABORTION," I teased her.

LL Cool Jew got rather indignant.  "I SWEAR I did NOT dial 1-800-ABORTION!"  I would have persisted in ragging on her, but I had to go throw up again.
 
After treating my nausea with a little medical marijuana, LL Cool Jew and Wmania took me out to lunch at Lauriol Plaza, which is the only place in Washington, DC I like at all.  I'm a sucker for delicious fajitas.   We ordered margaritas, and after a hilarious moment when Wmania decided to ask the non-English-speaking bus boy if they contained folic acid, resumed acting like my abortion was a great excuse for a weekend visit.

The next weekend, LL Cool Jew drove up to New York to keep me company for the actual fetus-purging part of the abortion.  I was not in good shape.  Despite my pregnancy being halted in its tracks by the methotrexate, I was still suffering from almost crippling nausea.  I kept waking up in the night to vomit.  In spite of my best efforts to joke about the situation ("Dude!  Welcome to the party of the century!"), LL Cool Jew was extremely worried about me.  She made sure the Vicodin was ready, she bought maxi-pads for me (trust that I am normally a tampon girl, but these are a no-no during an induced miscarriage), and she walked Caesar for me (a troublesome task given her penchant for five-inch stilettos and Caesar's tendency to pull hard on his leash).  Finally, right before bed, I shoved the pills up my vadge, took a Vicodin, and went to bed.  

Several hours later, I woke up feeling like my uterus was being rototilled.  I tried to be stoic, but the pain was so severe that I started crying.  I went into the bathroom so I wouldn't wake up LL Cool Jew.  I sat on the toilet, where I realized that I was literally hemorrhaging.  I was a fucking mess.  Then I had to get off the toilet so that I could throw up into it.  During this time, I bled on the floor.  I started crying harder when I flushed because I realized that I had not only expelled my child into a toilet, I had puked on top of it and then unceremoniously sent it into the NYC sewer system.  At this point, there was a quiet knock on the bathroom door.  I'm not sure if my whimpering or my retching woke LL Cool Jew, but she was up and wanting to know if I was okay.

I tried to convince her that I was just fine and would be out in a minute, but failed.  LL Cool Jew let herself in to find me wiping blood and chunks of fetus off the bathroom floor between dry heaves and sobs.  

"Oh my fucking God, Razzy," she said.  "You are NOT okay."

I was a complete mess.  LL Cool Jew gave me another couple Vicodin and helped me back to bed.  I think I managed to clean up most of the floor before her entrance, so there wasn't much for her to finish.  I couldn't keep those Vicodin down.  I spent the rest of the night writhing in pain.  I felt like someone was wringing out my reproductive organs.  LL Cool Jew stayed up with me, stroking my hair and feeling bad about not being able to help me more.  Finally, I managed to fight back the urge to vomit long enough to let more pain meds kick in, and fell asleep for a couple hours.

The next day LL Cool Jew and I stayed in bed all day watching Lord of the Rings and eating pizza.  I felt a little better.  My friend KatieScarlett came over to visit.  I was so exhausted and finally able to eat that I fell asleep early while KatieScarlett and LL Cool Jew got to know each other.  They ended up dating for almost a year after that.  Nothing kindles lesbian love like a mutual friend's abortion.

I figured that LL Cool Jew and KatieScarlett's relationship demonstrated that something good could come out of what was otherwise a horrible and traumatic experience.  I resolved to finish off the whole abortion experience on a positive note, so when I went back to DC for my Valentine's Day follow-up confirming my now-empty uterus, LL Cool Jew and I decided that it would be really, really fun to go to Medieval Times for some post-abortion clinic faux jousting.

After the clinic, LL Cool Jew and I went to pick up Wmania from her boyfriend's apartment.  She said she would meet us outside, because her then-boyfriend probably didn't want us traipsing around in his den of WASPiness and messing up his golf tee collection (and I'm not kidding...this d-bag from Connecticut actually collected tees from all the expensive golf courses he'd played at).  When we arrived, Wmania and said boyfriend were clearly having some sort of fight, as they were standing aggressively opposed and gesturing wildly.  LL Cool Jew and I pulled up, blasting "Night Train" by GNR, and I leaned out the window with a Parliament Light hanging out of my mouth and shouted, "Happy Valentine's Day, lovebirds!  I just got done at the abortion clinic and I'm ready to drink some mead and watch some fucking jousting, so get your ass in my rental car, bitch!"

Wmania's lame boyfriend just stared at us, clearly offended into silence.  He muttered a goodbye to Wmania, adjusted the collar of his polo shirt, and shuffled off to dust his golf tees or whatever.  Wmania, LL Cool Jew, and I proceeded to have a great time drinking overpriced Bud Light and shouting about whatever fake knight our seating arrangements required us to support.  On our way out, we took a picture in some fancy photo booth that put a picture of us in front a background that said "Bad Attitude."  As is my custom, I exposed my right breast for the photo, and only realized upon exiting that there was a large screen outside the booth displaying the picture of my naked tit for everyone in the mall to see.

"Dude, we have to get out of here before we, like, get arrested for indecent exposure or something," Wmania cautioned.

We left and proceeded to spend a lot more time drinking and carousing and forgetting the entire reason for my trip to our nation's capital.  However, any distraction from this event in my life is temporary.  Not a day has passed since then that I haven't thought about it.  It does not escape my notice that if I had made a different choice, I would have a four-year-old today.  I have dreams about what my child would have looked like.  I can't forgive myself for doing this, but I can't punish myself for it either.  I regret it constantly, but in spite of that, I would do the same thing if I found out I was pregnant today.  

Well over half of my friends have gone through the same thing.  Often they call me when they have to, because everyone knows that I have had the same experience (since my favorite means of coping is to pretend it doesn't bother me and make irreverent jokes about it).  It is heartbreaking for all of them.  One of my friends undergoing a "medical" abortion called me during the week between the methotrexate and the misepristone, crying and saying over and over, "My baby is dying!  I can feel it dying!"  Another friend called after her abortion ended and said, "I feel like a terrible woman.  I feel like Medea."  After assuring her that references to infanticidal witches of Greek mythology will get her nowhere in terms of coping, I still felt like a shit because I still couldn't offer her any tips as to how to get this out of your system.  If there is a way to move past this, I haven't discovered it.  I still think about it all the time.  I'm in therapy because of it.  Even if I use the impersonal nomenclature (ie: "terminating a pregnancy") that makes an abortion sound like a simple medical procedure, I can't escape the part of me that thinks I killed my child.  I can try to justify it by saying that I killed my bastard to save my own life, but this is not a simple thing to think about or put to rest.

The sad thing is that so many women have gone through this, and nobody talks about how complex the experience is.  When people talk about abortion, the discussions tend to be political (either "abortion is murder" or "keep your laws off my body") and don't even come close to addressing what it's like to actually have an abortion.  I'm sure women exist who think abortion is very casual and can have one without thinking about it at all, but everyone I know, obviously including myself, has not emerged from the clinic unscathed, undamaged, and without a significant measure of grief and remorse.  While every woman I know, also including myself, believes she made the right decision, it is not easy living with it.  And writing this all down and putting it on display for the internets and the world doesn't mitigate this burden, but at least it's not something I've got festering away secretly inside me anymore.  I don't know if I'll ever find absolution or peace, but now that I've confessed, at least I can hope I'm on the right track.  Besides, now you all know, and as GI Joe cartoons used to advise me, that's half the battle. 

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# posted by Razzy @ 8:43 AM 16 Comments Links to this post

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

 

Daily Douchebag: shrinks

Photobucket
Name: in my case, Dr. Stein

DOB: ???--the 1950s, probably

Occupation: getting off the fucking topic at hand

Hometown: ???--they never tell you anything personal

Current residence: for me, New York, New York or thereabouts

Douchebaggery:  I'm not one who gets embarrassed about going to therapy.  Sometimes I just need some professional assistance working out the kinks in my life, and that's nothing to be ashamed of.  Right now for me, I've realized that I really, REALLY need to quit smoking.  I know that I've quit so many times it's a running joke for everyone else, but this time it really absolutely has to happen.  With my asthma making a comeback with a vengeance, I now have the option of either smoking or breathing.  I no longer have the luxury of quitting smoke for health reasons that aren't immediately apparent.  I'm at the crossroads of either recovery or COPD, and I'm choosing recovery.  However, because I've tried and failed so many times to quit smoking, I decided to get some help this time around, so I'm seeing a shrink.  Besides, I have other unresolved issues (ie: abortion) that stress me out and exacerbate the smoking situation, so it can't hurt to iron out those wrinkles in my life either.

I wanted to see a shrink who would put me on Wellbutrin XL, AKA Zyban when it's sold as an aid for smoking cessation, to assist me with the lengthy process of washing cigarettes the fuck out of my life.  Columbia set me up with some guy who is supposedly good with "addiction issues" and who could help me.  Our first session went pretty well, except for the fact that he seemed to think my being bisexual played a large role in my lifelong smoking habit.  I disagreed, and said that my smoking "habit"--or, more accurately, debilitating addiction--was the result of my childhood stupidity and subsequent severe dependency on cigarettes.  My resolve to quit is tested by stressful situations, and my coping with those constructively is further damaged by festering drama from my past such as the aforementioned trip to the family planning clinic.  One thing that doesn't seem to affect my smoking is my sex life, and whether I'm doing dudes and/or chicks.  I'm at the shrink for two things: Wellbutrin and stress management.  I'm NOT here to take other aspects of my life that I'm just fine and dandy with and turn them into major fucking problems, which is what happened at our second and last session.

Yesterday, my shrink advised me that he was leaving Columbia, and sorry to bounce after my second visit, but he'll hook me up with another doctor who will help.  While he tried to evaluate what kind of shrink would be best for that, I was surprised by some of the lines of questioning he pursued.  Apparently, certain aspects of my personality--which he referred to as a "syndrome," like my personality is AIDS or something--are problems I didn't even know I had.  For example, I was unaware that I'm secretly TRANSGENDERED because I drink scotch, like football, and fuck around, and these are male traits.  Also, my parents may have something to do with this.  Not sure what, since my parents are loving and supportive and still married to each other, and neither of them hit or molested me growing up, but they are involved somehow in the gender identity crisis I didn't know I was having.

Needless to say, yesterday I didn't get a lot done in terms of keeping my shrink on point with regard to smoking and other traumatic events from my life that start with "A" and rhyme with "kabortion" yesterday.  I complained to LL Cool Jew while we were talking about whether or not scotch makes me TOO crazy, and this precipitated a tirade from her: 
LL Cool Jew: those JWBs go down way too easy for you!
Razzy: i KNOW
LL Cool Jew: maybe you should call a moratorium on the scotchers
Razzy: NEVER
LL Cool Jew: to bring yourself back to fighting levels
Razzy: although today my shrink called me transgendered on the basis of my scotch drinking
LL Cool Jew: transgendered?
Razzy: yes, i apparently like "male" things
LL Cool Jew: that's a stupid thing to say
Razzy: i was like, "NO WAY AM I CHANGING MY NAME TO MAX"
Razzy: "OR JULIAN"
Razzy: "OR ETHAN"
LL Cool Jew: cmon how about ezra?
Razzy:: i know, i thought it was dumb too
LL Cool Jew: but seriously
LL Cool Jew: that's a pretty wacktastic thing to say
Razzy: i was like, "dude, i'm totally comfortable in my body"
Razzy: well he's leaving columbia so this was our last sesh
Razzy: his conclusion: "i'm extremely complicated"
LL Cool Jew: it's not only obtuse, it's also disrespectful to be joking about a serious issue to you
Razzy: i don't think he was joking
LL Cool Jew: well then it's straight up fucktarded
Razzy: it's yet "another facet to your already extremely multifaceted complex personality"
LL Cool Jew: i call bullshit
Razzy: basically, i'm too confusing for him
LL Cool Jew: i'm glad that guy's gone
Razzy:: like i said, i'm getting a new shrink regardless
LL Cool Jew: you deserve somebody better than that
Razzy: i actually thought he was okay for the most part
Razzy: i don't think his expertise is sexuality issues
Razzy: he always seems out of his element when i'm talking about being bisexual
Razzy: he's like, "let's talk more about that"
LL Cool Jew: then he should keep his bright ideas to himself
Razzy: : i'm all, "dude, i'm totally fine with that. let's talk about MY SMOKING ADDICTION, that's why i'm here"
LL Cool Jew: these shrinks always think the queerness is a much bigger deal than in reality it is
Razzy: TRULY
Razzy: and i'm like hardly even queer!
LL Cool Jew: i always wanted to be like, look, i know this is a real trip for you because you're a boomer
LL Cool Jew: but for rizzle, i have never felt bad about being a lesbian
Razzy: i think he's trying to read too much into my "male" habits and the fact that i bang broads every so often
LL Cool Jew: and now i don't feel particularly bad about being straight
Razzy: i did long ago, in catholic school
Razzy: but now, FUCK THAT, i have no issues at all
Razzy: my issues are SMOKING and ABORTIONS!
LL Cool Jew: they always want to read more into it
Razzy: yeah today we had a 20 minute pointless convo about my parents' marriage
Razzy: i was like, "uh, back to the smoking, please"
LL Cool Jew: they think it's just got to be screwing with your emotions
LL Cool Jew: not really
LL Cool Jew: see, and there's another one
LL Cool Jew: if your parents are together, they want to talk about how they can identify weaknesses in their marriage in your personality flaws
Razzy: i'm like "KNOW WHAT'S REALLY SCREWING WITH ME...*SMOKING AND ABORTIONS*!
LL Cool Jew: if your parents arent together, they want to make "broken homes" into some big damn deal
Razzy:: exax
LL Cool Jew: it's not a mystery why i am unhappy
LL Cool Jew: i want to quit smoking
LL Cool Jew: if i quit smoking i bet i'd feel pretty hot about myself
LL Cool Jew: after i lost the 30 pounds i gained quitting of course
Razzy: then he was reading a lot into the fact that i don't care whether my new shrink that he's referring me to is male or female
LL Cool Jew: for god's sake
Razzy: i was like, no dude, i seriously don't care, as long as they can help me with the smoking
LL Cool Jew: this guy needs to get wuith the program
Razzy: i finally told him, "I'm bi-psychiatrist"
Razzy:"just like i'm bisexual"
Razzy: he thought that was funny
LL Cool Jew: you're like
LL Cool Jew: can they prescribe medication?
LL Cool Jew: then great.
Razzy: well exactly
Razzy: i was like the one thing i need
Razzy: is someone to keep the wellbutrin coming
LL Cool Jew: god
Razzy: AND WHO WANTS TO TALK ABOUT SMOKING AND ABORTIONS!
LL Cool Jew: you are so bringing me back dude.
LL Cool Jew: some of these shrinks just don't have a clue
Razzy: for real
LL Cool Jew: f'ing BOOMERS man
Razzy: i think my guy thought i was "very interesting"
LL Cool Jew:: they are hellbent on destroying us!
Razzy: because i'm "so extremely complex"
LL Cool Jew: well isn't everybody
Razzy:: bleeecccch
LL Cool Jew: isn't that the POINT
Razzy: i KNOW
Razzy: i was like, "glad i'm special but I NEED TO QUIT SMOKING!"
Razzy: i had to work hard to keep dr. stein on track
LL Cool Jew: wouldn't it be awesome if the shrink were just like
LL Cool Jew: wow you are a very straightforward individual with identified problems
LL Cool Jew: let's work on those
Razzy: TRULY
LL Cool Jew: see if anything else comes up
Razzy: i mean
Razzy: i mean, i'm giving my history
Razzy: colorfully, as is my habit
LL Cool Jew: if we're trying to hide something, that's one thing
LL Cool Jew: but YOU of all people don't try to hide ANYTHING.
Razzy: and the second i say, "i'm bisexual"
Razzy: he's like "when did you realize you were bisexual?"
Razzy: VOMIT
Razzy: i don't fucking know!
LL Cool Jew: stop the presses
Razzy: forever!
Razzy: i banged a chick first
Razzy: but then a dude immediately after
LL Cool Jew: let me waste your valuable 45 minutes talking about ancillary BS
Razzy: like WHO CARES
LL Cool Jew: they just don't want to hear that you're comfortable with it
LL Cool Jew: they WON'T believe it
LL Cool Jew: it's not possible in the boomer mind
Razzy: i KNOW
LL Cool Jew: because THEY still hate gays
Razzy: like, "in my time, people were so ostracized, shouldn't you be too?"
LL Cool Jew: OR, they really enjoy talking about their gay friends
LL Cool Jew: yes, "at my high school, we beat up tons of fags...how do YOU feel about ME?"
Razzy: ugh
LL Cool Jew: anyway
LL Cool Jew: glad that guy's moving on
Razzy: truly
Razzy: i hope his replacement is kewler
LL Cool Jew: you have to watch tehm
LL Cool Jew: tell them upfront
Razzy: totz, keep them on track
LL Cool Jew: they will waste your time otherwise
Razzy: truly
Razzy: i'm like, "back to the smoking"
Razzy: "back to the smoking"
LL Cool Jew: other things may come up as we address the reason you're there
LL Cool Jew: which is normal
LL Cool Jew: but you shouldn't be asked to take grandiose sidesteps from the issue at hand
LL Cool Jew: or worse yet
LL Cool Jew: CONVINCE them on teh points where you're already OKAY
Razzy: EXACTLY
LL Cool Jew: why do you have to convince them?
Razzy: like i definitely don't need to be told i'm having a gender identity crisis
Razzy: BECAUSE I'M NOT
LL Cool Jew: you're willing enough to share about your real problems
LL Cool Jew: who could possibly think that you were having a gender identity crisis?
LL Cool Jew: if you really wanted to be a dude
LL Cool Jew: i doubt you'd have LONG FLOWING CHERRY PIE BLONDE HAIR
Razzy: well truly
LL Cool Jew: or flash your tits all the time
Razzy: i know, i was like "i'm REALLY comfortable with my body"
LL Cool Jew: well maybe this next person will be respectful enough to take you seriously
LL Cool Jew: when you tell them you sincerely need help with certain things
Razzy: i hope so
LL Cool Jew: and not waste a bunch of your time getting bi sex stories to titillate and wow themselves
Razzy: TRULY
Razzy: well that's it
Razzy: i was like, "do i really need to go into detail about all the various methods and things by which i do it with girls?"
LL Cool Jew: no, not at all, it's completely irrelevant
Razzy: i mean, jesus
Razzy: not telling you about my strap-on, you perv
LL Cool Jew: that is so disgusting
LL Cool Jew: wasting your mental health HMO time getting his rocks off
Razzy: actually, though, i think my guy may have been confused about whether or not i actually f girls
Razzy: or just think making out with them and kissing is sex
LL Cool Jew: what difference does that make????????
Razzy: i assured him that my sex life with women is very below the belt
Razzy: BUT BACK TO SMOKING AND ABORTIONS
LL Cool Jew: this really pisses me off
LL Cool Jew: it's totz bringing me back to the dc shrink who tried to date me
Razzy: OH and then today
Razzy: he was all
Razzy: "so you've had sex with quite a few men"
LL Cool Jew:: ok
Razzy: when i was like "i f'd 62 dudes"
Razzy: i was like "right"
Razzy: dr. stein: "why do you think that is?"
Razzy: I DON'T KNOW, I LIKE TO FUCK!
LL Cool Jew: are you a sex addict as well as being a tranny boi now?
LL Cool Jew: pronounced tranny BWA in louisiana of course
Razzy: i must be
LL Cool Jew: i bet your male counterpart on his couch didn't get that question
LL Cool Jew: asshole
Razzy: SERIOUSLY
LL Cool Jew: angie, i am so livid about this, it's kind of ridic.
Razzy: well i'm done with dr. stein
LL Cool Jew: thank god
Razzy: so don't worry
LL Cool Jew: please don't hold him against my people.
Razzy: i'll date some other inadequate shrink
Razzy: dr. stein is recommending someone with expertise in treating addictions
Razzy: which is what i requested
LL Cool Jew: \m/
Razzy: exax
Razzy: so he did listen
Razzy: enough
LL Cool Jew: \m/ \m/
LL Cool Jew: sorry
LL Cool Jew: i love the devil hands
Razzy: after he told me i'm a F2M SLIZUT!
LL Cool Jew: well his opinion matters for shit
Razzy: well for real
Razzy: like i said
LL Cool Jew: i hate his gutses
Razzy: AIN'T NO WAY I'M CHOPPING OFF MY TITS AND ANSWERING TO "BOBBY"
So needless to say, I still need a shrink since I was so busy trying to explain to my old one that a few scotches don't necessarily equate to a F2M tranny, my slutty habits have nothing to do with smoking (except possibly that I smoke cigarettes for some of the same reasons I smoke pole--I'm orally fixated), and we didn't even really get to the abortion stuff.  Hopefully my next one will be a little more on track.  Goddamn shrinks.

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# posted by Razzy @ 4:33 AM 3 Comments Links to this post

Friday, May 16, 2008

 

From the Smith College Vault: my two-year reunion

Smith likes to milk every penny possible from its alumnae, so they have reunions whenever possible to remind us of how fabulous our years at Fugly Bitch U were. The highlight of reunion is Ivy Day, the day before commencement, where graduating seniors and alumnae from the past five decades throw on virginal white dresses and march around campus carrying roses, ivy garlands, and signs that say lame shit like "2-4-6-8, let's hear it for the class of '68!"


Although I could care less about Ivy Day, I missed my college friends and thought reunion would be a great excuse to get really drunk with them for a few days. When my two-year reunion rolled around in 2002, I was living in the P-N-Dub. I decided to fly back for it, since my friend LL Cool Jew was graduating and I'd been meaning to visit my girls back east anyway. I called up my friend Wmania, who was working on Wall Street at the time, and we decided to get alumnae rooms and drive from NYC to Smith.

So I packed a white dress, flew to New York, hooked up with Wmania, and we got all excited to party our tits off in Northampton for the weekend. The next day we rented our car, double-parked outside Wmania's apartment on the Upper East Side, and ran upstairs to get our bags. We loaded up the trunk of the car and went to drive away, when Wmania unfortunately realized that she had thrown the car keys into the trunk with our luggage and slammed it shut. As our even worse luck would have it, the trunk release inside the car was broken. I called AAA, who sent a guy to disassemble the entire back seat of the car, and STILL couldn't get into the trunk. Those Chevy Caprices or whatever are like fortified tanks. Finally, Wmania convinced the car rental company to send someone with a spare key, and, two hours late, we were headed to New England.

We arrived, managed to barely make it to the Alumnae House for our room keys, and ran into K-Money, this girl who had lived in Jordan House with me and worked on the school paper. We dragged her off to Packard's, my old regular bar in town, and proceeded to get our drink on. LL Cool Jew showed up, and it was mostly a happy reunion. I say mostly because K-Money got all standoffish when I suggested that she was involved with the mob because she kept telling everyone she worked as an "union organizer," and she reiterated that she thought I hadn't worked hard enough/wasn't obedient enough to her during our senior year on the school newspaper. I shot back that she was a lousy editor-in-chief with poor management skills and she might just be jealous that people were more interested in reading my "Angie's Weekly Rant" column than her lame news stories. This could have turned out badly if we weren't distracted by the arrival of Death Rizzo, another friend from Jordan House, who made things right again.

It was lucky K-Money only stayed that one night, because she was the source of all sorts of problems. In addition to the escalating tension between her and myself, she and Wmania had history. She and Wmania are both straight, but they had hooked up and done a little light boobmashing during our senior year. The night before our graduation, I had bought a keg with the prize money I got for "excellence in microbiology and immunology research" at the Ivy Day ceremony earlier that day, and we were having a party so ridiculous on the Jordan second floor that a couch was actually thrown off the roof and narrowly missed destroying a Smith Public Safety cruiser. Wmania and K-Money decided that after a few drinks, they needed to have a heart-to-heart about their sexless lesbian relationship, and proceeded to start a major processing session. At some point someone alerted me to this, I announced, "There will be no fake lesbian processing tonight!" and tried to break it up. They sent me away, saying they were having an "important talk."

"Bullshit!" I declared. They were standing outside the back door of Jordan House, which is basically a big window pane. I stood inside while they kept talking and realized that no amount of teasing would get them back to the party, so I decided to just stand inside where they could see me and strip. I was totally nude by the time they noticed, but it was effective. Wmania immediately ceased gesticulating wildly as she described her emotions to K-Money, jerked open the door, and said something like, "JESUS CHRIST, Razzy, are you smoking CRACK COCAINE? YOU'RE BUTT NAKED!"

"No shit," I said. "Now are you guys going to cease and desist with the Smith girl bullshit and have another beer, or am I going to have to streak the Quad to distract you?" At that moment a bunch of random dudes came up the stairs and started hollering, "AWRIGHT, IT'S GET NAKED TIME!" Nobody took them up on their "it's get naked time" announcement, and I actually took that as a cue to put my clothes back on, but I thought it had permanently put a lid on Wmania's drama with K-Money. It did, until two-year reunion. After returning from Packard's, K-Money and Wmania started kissing and hanging out on the porch swing outside Albright House, where our alumnae rooms were. That turned into more processing, and when LL Cool Jew and I came outside to check on them, they were practically having another emotional girl spat. "Here we go again," I said, starting to unbutton my shirt.

"Oh God, are you going to strip again?" asked Wmania.

"If you two don't cut this out," I said.

"This is none of your business!" K-Money hissed at me.

"Let's go drink more," said Wmania. She came inside and the party resumed. K-Money was pissed. She left first thing the next morning and took all the bad vibes with her. From then on, it was straight-up PARTY TIME.

The next day, W-Mania and I went back to Packard's, and then out to dinner with LL Cool Jew's mom, her then-girlfriend Motherbucker, and a couple other random BDOCs (big dykes on campus) who were their friends. Then we went to Liquors 44, loaded up on gallons of every type of bottom shelf liquor, and went back to Albright House to get the party started. That was when our problems started with the girls in Albright.

Since commencement starts two weeks after finals, the only students around Smith in their dorms are graduating seniors. The empty rooms are then used for alumnae. We were unfortunate to get put up in Albright because they were notorious for being lamer than FDR's polio legs. LL Cool Jew lived in Albright her first year, and was accused of sexual harassment by some fugly LUG (lesbian until graduation AKA "the four-year plan") whose advances she'd declined. In fact, the coolest thing that ever happened in Albright House prior to our reunion was that my boyfriend Benzo popped my anal cherry there when I was crashing in some random girl's room during Spring Break my junior year. In the two years since I'd left Smith, Albright's residents had not gotten any less uptight, and within thirty minutes of our commencing partying there, some mousey bitch knocked on our door to complain about our smoking.

"Um, like, you need to, like, stop the smoking, because we can smell it in the hall," she said. No asking, just informing us passive-aggressively that we needed to be smoke-free. Motherbucker and I were at the door.

"So?" I said. "We're alumnae, we can do whatever we want."

"I, like, have asthma, so you really need to not do that," she reiterated.

Motherbucker blew a lungful of American Spirit smoke in this bitch's face, and she started coughing.

"I thought," she sputtered. "From one Smithie to another..."

"DON'T YOU EVER CALL ME A SMITHIE!" thundered Motherbucker. All my friends hate the term "Smithie." I think we'd all prefer to be called "Smith girls," "Smith alumnae," or "Smith bitches" over "Smithie."

The girl went back to her room. We resumed partying. There was soon another knock on our door. It was some buttoned-up turtleneck-wearing chick in her mid-thirties.

"Hi there, I'm from the Alumnae House, and some of the residents on this floor have complained about the smoke," she said.

"Isn't this a smoking floor?" someone asked.

"Well, yes, but if you could just try to be considerate so that you can enjoy your reunion and the residents of Albright can enjoy their commencement, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Okay, no problem," we said. As soon as she left, we all lit up. I think at some point we ventured over to LL Cool Jew's room in Chase House, where she told us that some girl down the hall had been giving her problems with noise complaints while she worked on her thesis. "I know I've been really NOISY underlining passages from The Quiet American," she fumed. "And I know that nothing says 'party' like Graham Greene's literary repertoire, but buy some fucking earplugs, bitch!"

"I'll take care of her," I said. I tiptoed to this girl's room and took a piss right outside her door. That'll learn her to complain about my little LL Cool Jew. Then I think we returned to Albright, so as not to get caught vengefully urinating on the hall carpet in Chase House.

At some point after all this partying, Motherbucker's male friend Fergus, who I had ignored because he was a redhead with mutton chop sideburns (both phenotypic traits I loathe) until I realized that he was fucking hilarious, stumbled into my room and passed out. When I finally made it there to pass out myself at around four, he was occupying my (twin-sized) bed. I shoved him over.

"Hey, asshole, you're going to have to make room for me if you're sleeping here, because I'm NOT sleeping on the fucking floor."

"No way are you sleeping on the floor," he replied, making room. I kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed.

Five minutes later, we were fucking. As it turns out, we were pretty physically compatible, and it was great sex in spite of our both being extremely drunk. I should add that I am NOT quiet when having sex, and especially not when having great sex. He wasn't quiet either, and being that we only had a creaky-springed twin bed and there was all sorts of spanking and that sort of thing going on, I'm pretty sure we woke up the asthmatic and all her equally uptight friends. I think we finally went to sleep around 7 a.m.

At 8 a.m., my phone alarm went off and I remembered that it was Ivy Day. "Fuck!" I said. "I'm supposed to go walk in the parade with the fucking alumnae." I looked out my window and saw that it was snowing. SNOWING! In the middle of May. "It's fucking snowing!" I exclaimed.

"You know what that means?" asked Fergus.

"That I'm going to freeze my tits off in this spaghetti-strap white dress I brought?" I asked.

"That you should blow off Ivy Day, get back into bed, and blow me instead," he said. I thought his reasoning was sound, so I shrugged, threw my dress back into my suitcase, and obliged. I'd rather suck dick than shiver and nip out of my Ivy Day dress in a freak spring snowstorm any day. Plus, I figured that a BJ would result in oral for me and regular sex afterward (it did). After fucking again, we went back to sleep and didn't get up until noon. We got up, showered, reconvened with the rest of the crew, and spent the afternoon bar hopping. That night, we promptly resumed the party in Wmania's room. There were probably about 10 people crammed in there, drinking and smoking and having a generally great time, when we ran out of mixers. For some reason, Fergus was fairly sober, so he offered to drive over to Cumberland Farms and restock, and volunteered me to go with him since I was his girlfriend for the weekend. On our way back with the mixers, we passed the asthmatic girl's room and could hear that she was having an impassioned discussion with her hallmates about how much she hated us. Naturally, we stood outside her door and eavesdropped, trying not to laugh audibly at the Harry Potter whiteboard she had on the outside of her door.

"And then, she BLEW SMOKE IN MY FACE! AFTER I TOLD THEM I HAD ASTHMA!"

"NO! That's terrible!" exclaimed some other girl, scandalized.

"You know what else," said yet another girl. "One of them is staying across the hall from me, and woke me up this morning HAVING SEX."

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" they asked, aghast.

"And get this...it was MALE-FEMALE SEX. Like, WITH A MAN."

This ushered in a cacophony of "OH MY GODs" and other similar expressions of disapproving horror.

Fergus and I gave each other a congratulatory knuckle pound and went back to tell everyone else what we'd heard. Everyone in our group was appalled that these girls were so undeniably lame that the night before their college graduation, they were wallowing in righteous outrage about how much more fun we were having than them rather than celebrating like any normal college student. Even by Smith standards, that's pathetic.

I guess their little emotional circle-jerk compelled them to further action, because there was soon a knock at the door. Actually, it was more of an authoritative pounding accompanied by an announcement "PUBLIC SAFETY! Open up!"

We opened the door to find a bespectacled Public Safety officer who looked like Lewis from Revenge of the Nerds grown up and employed as an unarmed rent-a-cop at an all-girls liberal arts school. He told us to take the party elsewhere or we'd be kicked out.

We protested. "We paid for these rooms," Wmania said. "We're all over 21. There's no reason why we shouldn't be allowed to drink in them."

"Listen, you can drink, but you've gotten over 5 noise and smoke complaints in the last 24 hours. And I can see that you're all acting very bolsterous."

"BOLSTEROUS?" I said.

LL Cool Jew shushed me before I could point out that the word he was looking for was actually "boisterous" and it was decided that it would be easier to just go somewhere else than get kicked out of alumnae housing and spend the night sleeping in our rental car. So we went to Capen Annex, the office of the school newspaper, The Sophian, and tried to figure out how to break in. Motherbucker climbed a tree, broke into the yearbook's office upstairs, and came downstairs to let everyone in. We partied there until 5 a.m., vandalizing the place (I think I wrote "YOU'LL HAVE TO PAINT OVER ME TO GET ME OUT OF CAPEN ANNEX" on the wall in Sharpie) and listening to Dr. Dre.

The next morning, I put on my bikini. It was only 50 degrees out, but I had worn a bikini to every Smith commencement I attended except my own (where I think I wore a bikini under my gown), and I wasn't about to stop. I made Bloody Marys for everyone, and we settled onto "tar beach", a stretch of roof between Jordan and Emerson House, to watch the ceremonies. FalloniusMonk showed up right when my vodka ran out with a toolbox of booze, which kept the party going. By the time commencement was over, I was absolutely shitfaced. I was so drunk I literally fell on my ass while I was talking to my favorite professor Saratoga120. Then I made an ass out of myself at the house in Hatfield where LL Cool Jew's mom's friends, who were Tai Chi and yoga instructors, held a graduation party in her honor. FalloniusMonk told me she'd give me a ride back to New York so Wmania could leave early (she was over it and ready to resume her life as a responsible private equity analyst.) Besides, FalloniusMonk had a big fat joint, which we smoked on our way back to Smith from this party. Once back, she rounded up Rack, Rack's then-girlfriend, and their other friend while I tracked down Fergus for one last horizontal mambo before we parted ways.

That was the last time I visited Smith College, and it's high time I went back. I have no doubt that within 5 minutes of my arrival, I'll find the handful of cool kids there, get wasted, hopefully get laid, and piss off everyone else within earshot. Now, if only my Razzyphiles in Jordan House invite me back for alumnae tea, I'll show them all how a real hardcore Smith bitch does it: drunk, hollering, and constantly in trouble with the Smith establishment.

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# posted by Razzy @ 6:47 AM 2 Comments Links to this post
 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Jordan House


Name: Jordan House

DOB: 1922

Occupation: Smith College's biggest party house

Hometown: Northampton, Assachusetts

Current residence: Paradise Road, Northampton, Assachusetts

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: While stalking myself on the internets, I discovered a new link to my website from some chick's Livejournal page.  I went to this page, and was surprised and delighted at what I read:
Last Thursday at senior banquet everybody got willed a bunch of shit my the seniors. I got some horrible faded rainbow 3-d cloth stapled to a piece of plywood, a t-shirt that says "totes not vomitor betch," and a huge picture of Audrey Hepburn. Ellie and Kaitlin, on the other hand, got the most amazing will ever: A diary from a girl's first year at Smith, a '99 grad. By the time they get willed this gift, I'm completely drunk from the 40 Aliza got me (yeah, lightweight), so I stole it from their box (temporairily), ran upstairs, and started reading it because I am such a sucker for hearing stories about a person's 'college days.' Needless to say, the girl was fucking crazy. An incredible writer, who often, and without modesty, talked about how awesome she was, spoke about her days of taking Ketmine, smoking more weed than you can imagine, fucking guys, and hating herself.

So. We looked her up on google. She's still crazy, has this fucked up website with a really cynical blog and pictures of her boobs, but it's so weird that she talks about my house, the dead girl's room, Jordan House parties, ect.
I thought this was amusing. I didn't even remember keeping a diary my first year at Smith. Well, I do, but I still have that diary (mainly because in the back of it is my official and comprehensive sex partner list), so I thought it was funny that not only did I keep some other diary, but that it's now a treasured heirloom being willed from one Jordan House resident to another at Senior Banquet.  I have no doubt that it's mine, since the "talking about how awesome (I) was" and "taking Ketamine, smoking more weed than you can imagine, (and) fucking guys" part seems right on the mark.  As for the part about hating myself, I was pretty unhappy my first year at Smith adjusting to living on the East Coast and making new friends, although I don't recall it actually getting into self-loathing territory.  I was 18, however, and tended to be more overly dramatic about my personal issues than now, so I'm sure I was probably comprehensively self-deprecating.

I left a comment on this girl's blog, thanking her for calling me "an incredible writer" and asking whether the treasured pot leaf necklace that I had long ago willed to my friend Martindale, was still being passed down from stoner to stoner.  It turns out that in fact it was willed to the girl's roommate, and furthermore that "all the Jordanites who read (my) blog think (I am) fucking awesome" and I should expect an invitation to their alumnae tea.  FUCK YES!  It seems that Jordan is maintaining its reputation as the Smith College party house (or, at least in the words of my bloggity admirer, "the least lame house on campus"), for which it was legendary back in days of yore (ie: 10 years ago when I was living there).

Now, I can hear the collective scoffing coming from everyone on the internets who knows anything about Smith College.  I know that nothing at Smith can be described as a "party house" compared to any average undergrad's apartment at almost any state school.  I went to visit my friend G-Boner at her school (Arizona State) during my sophomore year at Smith, and their Tuesday night was a more happening party with more kegs and bong hits and hot girls than anything Smith produced when it tried to party hard.  However, by Smith standards, Jordan was positively insane, so it's fitting I lived there for four years.

When I first got to Smith, I was told that Jordan couldn't have parties until October due to social probation levied after an incident the previous year.  The house president at the time was dating a member of the Holyoke chapter of the Latin Kings, and a fight broke out between the gang members and these townies who were also there.  My ex-boyfriend Benzo was there that night, and he said that most people had taken refuge in the rooms on the second floor (he himself was getting a BJ from this girl who used to hook me up with Ritalin when I had to learn a semester's worth of organic chemistry in three nights for finals).  From these rooms, they could hear screaming and bodies being thrown up against the walls as the entire floor was occupied by a straight-up brawl.  Supposedly, people were also caught smoking crack in the second floor bathroom that night, and some dude was arrested after brandishing a gun, although these might be fanciful embellishments to the Jordan legend.  The house president was no longer there when I started as a first-year, but Jordan's legacy as the nerve center of Smith's party scene was cemented, and I knew I was in the right house.

During my tenure at Smith, a whole hell of a lot of things happened on my watch to ensure that Jordan's reputation continued.  Within two days of my arrival, I got busted for assisting a junior I had befriended with carrying in cases of beer she bought for us.  My first-year class had floor parties good enough to attract almost all the cool upperclassbitches on the second floor and half of Amherst College.  Over the years in Jordan, I proceeded to become one of the most notorious potheads in Smith College memory (right down to getting busted for possession of a class D substance and candles, and thus punished with a semester in "the dead girl's room," where this unfortunate girl had hung herself my sophomore year).  I tried to start a fraternity of girls in Jordan House, and spent a good year making everyone tape "PKE" to their doors.  I watched a hell of a lot of "Beverly Hills, 90210," made a porn with my boyfriend and two girls living in Emerson House, took so many bong hits it's a miracle I'm not still stoned, and was sad to depart.

Yesterday while I was home convalescing and waiting for new episodes of "Deadwood" to download, I was Gchatting with LL Cool Jew and decided to mention the shout-out from current Jordan denizens to her.  Unlike me, who stayed put in Jordan all four years, LL Cool Jew was a Smith nomad.  During her first year she lived in Albright House, an unbearably lame house where she was wrongly accused of sexual harassment by a girl she'd rejected, then she moved to Jordan for one semester, then into a Friedman apartment, then somewhere else I don't remember since I had graduated by that point, and then into Chase House for her senior year. She moved out of Jordan because my friend Martindale lived around the corner from her, and Martindale was then involved in a tempestuous relationship with this townie guy that ultimately ended with grand theft auto, a restraining order, and him doing jail time, but that's another story.  However, LL Cool Jew's one semester in Jordan was enough to qualify her as at least a Jordan appreciator.  Once a Jordanite, always a Jordanite.
Razzy: want to see something that's not liz ame?
Razzy: http://sparklemotion89.livejournal.com/9990.html
Razzy: extant smith college girls think i'm "fucking awesome" and want to invite me to their alumnae tea!
Razzy: at JORDAN HOUSE
LL Cool Jew: WOW
Razzy: i know!
LL Cool Jew: that is ridonk
Razzy: cracked me up!
Razzy: i would love to go to that fucking jordan house alumnae tea
LL Cool Jew: ME TOO
LL Cool Jew: even though i only lived there one semester
LL Cool Jew: it was a harrowing experience
Razzy: that counts!
Razzy: indeed
Razzy: constantly hearing martindale's domestic battles
LL Cool Jew: it was at the height of martindale's insantiy with her boyfriend
LL Cool Jew: the townie
LL Cool Jew: on alternate nights i could hear them humping passionately or fighting
Razzy: that was how they rolled
LL Cool Jew: my room was kitty corner to hers
Razzy: i know your room was, i moved into it after you left!
Razzy: remember, cause i was in the dead girl's room!
LL Cool Jew: that's right!
Razzy: that's how i met (LL Cool Jew's grandmother, who liked me so much she sent us to Ibiza for Spring Break that year, so LL Cool Jew could spend more time with our friend Wmania and myself before we graduated)!
Razzy: she called looking for you
Razzy: x7080
LL Cool Jew: oh RIGHT....
LL Cool Jew: jesus dude
LL Cool Jew: your mind is like the proverbial steel trap
Razzy: i can't believe i remember the extension
LL Cool Jew: how the f do you do that
Razzy: steel trap for useless bullshit
LL Cool Jew: sometimes the things you remember startle me.
Razzy: they startle me too
LL Cool Jew: anyway, that was a pretty good smith room
Razzy: it was!
Razzy: it was big
Razzy: got great light
Razzy: quadside
LL Cool Jew: the dead girls room wasn't tho
LL Cool Jew: teence
Razzy: the dead girl's room was also dark
Razzy: no wonder she offed herself
Razzy: it was gloomy as shit
LL Cool Jew: and full of dead girl vibes dude
Razzy: yeah i didn't notice much of that
Razzy:didn't see any ghosts while there
Razzy: i figure that poor girl was so unhappy
Razzy: she wouldn't want to be stuck for eternity at smith
LL Cool Jew: god no
I'm so hardcore about Jordan that I even remember the extension of that room.  I think the dead girl's room was extension x7181, the room I lived in my junior year right about the Jordan front door was x7076, and the room I lived in my sophomore year next to the dead girl's room was x7183.  Jordan has clearly made an indelible mark on my psyche.  I really hope I get invited to that alumnae tea so I can buy liquor for the current Jordanites, smoke their pot, and maybe even get some hot girl-on-girl with any cute bi girls dwelling there!   Jordan for life! 

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# posted by Razzy @ 5:38 AM 2 Comments Links to this post

Thursday, May 08, 2008

 

One month until it's BS-stravaganza!

I was getting excited to visit my friend LL Cool Jew next month in New Orleans, so I was looking up some of the things we're going to geek out on.  After checking out bayou boat trips and restaurant menus and the like, I decided to investigate one of our most-anticipated tourist activities: the Britney Spears Museum!  Actually, it's the Kentwood Historical and Cultural Museum, or as their website says, the Kentwood Hiatorical and Cultural Museum, but apart from a modest exhibit on the Kentwood, Louisiana natives who fought valiantly in the second World War, the entire thing is devoted to BS.  No, not bullshit or buttsex!  I'm talking about the legendary Ms. Britney Spears.

Apparently, upon visiting this cozy, unassuming little cottage, in addition to viewing a fully automated small-scale replica of the stage from her first tour, I can expect to find creepy displays of Britney's childhood bedroom, right down to her Madame Alexander dolls and Barbie furniture, and tacky collages of treasured Spears family photos.  


It's disturbing that my own childhood stuff is so reminiscent of Britney's.  Not only is my similar brass-knobbed day bed still in my parents' "guest room" (minus the *NSYNC-shirt wearing teddy bear), my parents totally have a couple of those gold-foiled ready-made collages featuring vintage Razzy action circa 1985 hanging in their living room.  All the Spearses need is a family portrait taken by Olan Mills, and Britney and I had the same childhood.  Well, except for she was being fame-whored to the Mickey Mouse Club and fostering dreams of superstardom while I was building Lego houses, rocking the face off the mock Puyallup city council, and dominating the art of creating papier maché/tempera paint volcanoes thanks to my mastery of generating impressive acid-base reactions using household products in the gifted program and fostering dreams of supreme nerdiness.  Other than that, though, I could BE Britney Spears if my parents had treated me like a cash cow rather than an aspiring dork.  In fact, during the five minutes in my tween years that I decided I was going to be a supermodel (DON'T LAUGH...at least not until you've seen the ten pages of permed, Mary Kay-lacquered, acid-washed hilarity that is my "portfolio"), my parents humored me by letting me get my pictures taken, but they wisely wouldn't let me forsake my studies to enroll in the Barbizon school or hire one of the high-powered modeling agents working at the South Hill Mall Glamour Shots to represent me (and undoubtedly landing me awesome gigs like showing off the latest in Esprit and Generra fashions on the runway outside the South Hill Mall Gottschalks née Lamonts storefront.  If I'd been surnamed Spears, my ass would have been at some audition before I finished saying "I want to be a star when I grow up."  

I can only assume that this is why BS is currently known for her taste (or lack thereof) in ratty weaves, her Frappuccino-FUPA, and insanity, while I'm currently known for...well, not a whole lot besides titty pictures, useless bullshit, and batshit craziness.  Okay, maybe it would be better if I were known for something more respectable, but at least I've never been committed to a psych ward.  Yet.

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# posted by Razzy @ 8:34 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Senator John McCain's penis (YES, I'M GOING THERE)


Name: the penis attached to Senator John Sidney McCain III (I wonder if has a name for it, like "Mammoth" or "Wendell" or "Sal" or "Lucky")

DOB: August 29, 1936

Occupation: staying erect without Viagra (I presume)

Hometown: Coco Solo Naval Air Base, Panama Canal Zone

Current residence: the campaign trail

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness:  Last night while I was watching "Deadliest Catch" and salivating over Sig Hansen, while LL Cool Jew was obviously glued to MSNBC and the Indiana/North Carolina primary returns.  Probably forgetting that my priorities Tuesday nights lie on the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea and not with Tim Russert, she engaged me in a text message discussion about politics.
LL Cool Jew: thats a pretty slim margin of victor in ind. at best. she'll win but the lead keeps closing. she cdnt capitalize on the worst period of his campaign
Razzy: No dude. John mc cain!
LL Cool Jew: dude he wdnt survive his first term
Razzy: He's a tough old sob. He will survive both terms
LL Cool Jew: u can change his catheter
Razzy: It would b an honor. But im sure his junk s still in prime condition n every way
LL Cool Jew: its probably totz covered in melanomas
Razzy: No way. It looks like a mighty elephant tusk: hard and ivory.
LL Cool Jew: hil.la.ry bitches.  sighhh but its totz depressing right now
Poor LL Cool Jew, weeping into her herbal tea along with JerseyGirl and Motherbucker and most of my other Smith College friends about the inevitable lingering death of Hillary Clinton's presidential bid.  However, my sympathies for my sad Hillary-loving friends do not extend to tolerate aspersions they may cast against Senator John McCain or his penis, which I am sure has weathered the years extraordinarily well.  Though it may be old, I'm sure his penis looks preternaturally youthful and strong.  John McCain just strikes me as a man who packs an impressive piece of dick.  I know I'm sick, but I don't care!  I won't sit idly by while the character of his penis is besmirched by bitter Hillary Clinton supporters.  John! Mc! Cain!  John! Mc! Cain!

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# posted by Razzy @ 10:07 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Friday, May 02, 2008

 

Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Kwame Kilpatrick and Christine Beatty


Names: Kwame Malik Kilpatrick and Christine Rowland Beatty

DOB: June 6, 1970 and ?, 1970

Occupation: disgraced mayor and former mayoral chief of staff

Hometown: Detroit, Michigan

Current residence: Detroit, Michigan and in infamy

Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I knew about the scandal plaguing the mayor of Detroit had something to do with lying about an affair uncovered by a slew of juicy text messages, but I hadn't really investigated the matter more thoroughly.  Not until I had the following Gchat with LL Cool Jew earlier this week in which she managed to use a discussion concerning Robert Sylvester Kelly's hot new single "Hair Braider" as a segue into it, that is:
LL Cool Jew: so you know this scandal in detroit with the mayor and his affair?
Razzy: oh YES
LL Cool Jew: have you read the text messages?
LL Cool Jew: this will come as a shock to you, i know:
LL Cool Jew: they are R KELLY FANS
Razzy: YES!
Razzy: YES!
Razzy: YES!
LL Cool Jew: http://media.freep.com/documents/stefani042908/index.htm
LL Cool Jew: skip to page 9
LL Cool Jew: the brief lists the text messages
LL Cool Jew: they are totally engrossing
Razzy: YES
Razzy: doing it now
(5 minutes later)
Razzy: holy crap
LL Cool Jew:: holy CRAP
Razzy: "i hope you were singing that last r. kelly song to me"
LL Cool Jew: have you gotten to the part about "benz chili bowl" yet??
Razzy: "you were kind of wet last night, inside and out"
Razzy: grooooosssss
LL Cool Jew: gag
LL Cool Jew: "i really wanted to give you some good head this morning but i didn't know how to ask you to let me do it"
Razzy: BJs=not rocket science
Razzy: um, just get down there and start sucking, christine
LL Cool Jew: I DIE
Razzy: dude SO AWESOME
Razzy: i want to get some good head at benz chili bowl
LL Cool Jew: wow. i am exhausted after reading that.
Razzy: i'm kind of horny
Razzy: kwame and christine seem like they have pretty hot sex
Razzy: or did
LL Cool Jew: def a passionate affair
LL Cool Jew: lots of quickie motel rendezvous
Razzy: yeah and that can be hot
Razzy: dude i wonder what kells jam kwame and xtine were discussing
Razzy: i'm thinking either:
Razzy: in the kitchen
Razzy: sex planet
Razzy: the zoo
Razzy: i like the crotch on you
Razzy: remote control
LL Cool Jew: i know
LL Cool Jew: dude you've got to daily dude them
LL Cool Jew: the material is too good
Razzy: i WILL
LL Cool Jew: it's such a gimme
And so here I am, Daily Duding Kwame Kilpatrick and Christine.  If you haven't gone to page 9 of the document detailing the scandalous texts in all their glory, I strongly recommend you do.  If you don't want to bother, the Wikipedia page dedicated to this has a nice summary (including a description of the aromatic bath the two shared at a couples' spa and Beatty's use of a character from a high-speed internet ad as an alias) and characterizes the correspondence as containing "sexually graphic conversations, racial slurs, profanity, and discussions regarding the extramarital affair between Beatty and Kilpatrick, amongst other things."  The texts are much like a jam by Kwame and Christine's favored R&B thug: titillating, somewhat nonsensical, and utterly ridiculous.

While it was obviously inadvisable for Kwame and Christine to finance their torrid affair with municipal funds and lie about it under oath, I'm so glad they did because otherwise we probably never would have gotten to read it.  This trash reads like some kind of urban Jackie Collins novel.  Actually, it reads like a text message version of their favorite romantic troubadour's infamous hip-hopera Trapped In the Closet.  Granted, there aren't any cop's tubby trailer trash wives named Bridget getting pregnant by this midget or said midget shitting his pants in terror at the sight of R. Kelly brandishing his Beretta, but I imagine this whole salacious drama is basically what would happen if you took the TItC cast and placed them in the Manoogian Mansion rather than the greater Chicago metropolitan area.

Further validating Kwame's status as a hardcore Kells fan is his response to the $8.4 million dollar settlement which precipitated the public release of their text messages.  In spite of being caught red-handed perjuring himself thanks to the details of this settlement, he is refusing to resign as mayor.  He claimed he has paid the $8.4 million he owes in the form of "hard work for the city" and dismissed demands for his resignation as "political rhetoric."  Furthermore, he bitch-slapped a photographer for asking him about the affair at church and attributed his achievements as mayor to "an assignment from God."  That's what Kells would call "real talk" along the lines of "bitch, I wish you would burn my motherfuckin' clothes, with your triflin' ass" or "the next time your ass get horny, go fuck one of your funky-ass friends," and I'm loving every last dirty texted word.  Kwame may be a corrupt, lying asshole, but he's my kind of corrupt, lying asshole.  I'd give his disgraced, disbarred, party-throwing, funds-misappropriating, R. Kelly-listening, felonious ass some good head any day.

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# posted by Razzy @ 5:33 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Thursday, April 24, 2008

 

Daily Douchebag: "Lost"


Name: "Lost"

DOB: 2004

Occupation: being simultaneously addictive and completely aggravating

Hometown: Oahu, Hawaii

Current residence: new episodes return to TV tonight at 10 p.m.

Douchebaggery:  LL Cool Jew was watching "Lost" season 3 DVDs, and got to chatting with me about it the other day:
LL Cool Jew: so do you still watch "lost"?
Razzy: yes
LL Cool Jew: it pisses me off
LL Cool Jew: but it's addictive
Razzy: i know
Razzy: season 2 sucked balls
Razzy: but season 3 gets better
Razzy: season 4 has mad dramz too
Razzy: sayid the hit man! (swooooon)
LL Cool Jew: i am trying to be patient
Razzy: i know some of it really drags
LL Cool Jew: god i frickin LOVE sayid
Razzy: he is SO FUCKING HOT
LL Cool Jew: he is so the fire
Razzy: i would hit that in a hot second
LL Cool Jew: the FIRE
LL Cool Jew: he's married to someone famous
LL Cool Jew: an older woman
Razzy:barbara hershey
LL Cool Jew: YES!
Razzy: i have wiki-stalked him
LL Cool Jew: have you daily duded him?
Razzy: sayid looooooooves blondes
Razzy: NO but i will!
LL Cool Jew: i mean, i am mostly a lesbian
LL Cool Jew: but he definitely falls into my 5 percent window
LL Cool Jew: esp with the wifebeater, backpack and rifle
Razzy: i don't know how anyone would NOT find sayid hot
Razzy: he really rules the beater
Razzy: and the perpetually wet jhericurl
LL Cool Jew: every time there's yet another jack-back i'm like
Razzy: NO! MORE SAYID!
LL Cool Jew: MORE IRAQI TORTURE INTERROGATIONS PLEASE
Razzy: yes! YES!
Razzy: god, if you want to know jack's background
Razzy: just watch old "party of five" episodes
LL Cool Jew: srsly
LL Cool Jew: sick of jack
LL Cool Jew: sick of kate
Razzy: HATE KATE
LL Cool Jew: only want to know who the others are and how they got there
LL Cool Jew: period
LL Cool Jew: end
LL Cool Jew: sick of polar bears
LL Cool Jew: sick of black smoke
LL Cool Jew: want only hatches and others
Razzy: well you find out a lot more about the others and DHARMA and all that
Razzy: wait until season 4
Razzy: then there's the "freighter"
Razzy: and they're more sinister than the others
LL Cool Jew: "the freighter"?
LL Cool Jew: WHAT?
Razzy: it's at the end of season 3
LL Cool Jew: there are other more sinister others????
Razzy: you'll see
Razzy: YES!
LL Cool Jew: NO
Razzy: from the outside world!
LL Cool Jew: what could be scarier than ben???
Razzy: ohhhhhh they're scarier
Razzy: and there's all sorts of sketchiness with the other freighter people too
Razzy: and the others hate them
Razzy: the freighter is there to get ben
Razzy: they hates the others, precious
Razzy: they're super sketchy
Razzy: but i don't want to give anything away
Razzy: the freighter comes into play the last couple episodes of season 3
LL Cool Jew: OK
LL Cool Jew: i hate this
Razzy: i know you have to slog through a lot of lame shit about kate and jack and sawyer and hurley